Gravity
by Rendered Heartless
Summary: He has this hold on me; this attraction I can't ignore - I can't escape ..defying gravity is an impossible task - and even if it were remotely possible, I'm not sure I'd want to. Mei-Ying/Cheng
1. Chapter 1

**Saw the Karate Kid Remake. Fell in love with the Karate Kid Remake. Read a few fanfics based off of the Karate Kid Remake. Had an idea about a story for the Karate Kid Remake. Decided to dedicate the place that is my second story on this site to the Karate Kid Remake.**

It is a strange relationship I have with him—if I can even call it a relationship.

Maybe words like _attraction_ or _pull_ describe whatever it is between us.

_Cheng_.

I have known him for a long time. Too long. And when I did not know him, I had known of him.

_Our parents are close_.

That is our _relationship_. Our status. It is what we tell everyone. It is what we tell ourselves. We do not talk much, outside of family meetings and gatherings. He just looks at me. And I look back. It is impossible not to. He is with his friends at school; when I am not practicing the violin, I am with mine. He may nod, or greet me quickly outside, but in school, we just stare.

He just looks at me. And I look back.

His eyes are magnets. I may be looking the entire opposite direction. But when I feel that prickly, hair-rising sensation crawl up my spine and continue up the nape of my neck, I know he's looking—I know he's there. It's like Cheng-radar.

And I have to look back.

_Because it is impossible not to._ And I slide my eyes to the right and there he is, with his friends. When I meet his gaze, he shifts his eyes away from me and stares directly in front of me.

ooo

"**What are you listening to**?" The question snaps me back to reality. I pull my line of vision back in front of me.

"**Bach**," I say, looking up from my seat on the park bench to smile lightly at the boy with light chocolate skin in front of me.

"**Oh Bach? I listen to them all the time. They're tight**," the American boy says to me with that funny accent. "**Ever heard of this**?" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. After pressing a few buttons, music sounds quietly from the small device; music I am not at all familiar with.

Not able to stop myself, I glance briefly to the side again. I see him glaring hard at the American boy. And I want to get his attention; tell him with my eyes to walk away. But he does not notice me looking at him.

"**Check this out**," I turn back to the American boy when he speaks again.

He steps back and starts to dance. And I laugh; hoping to sound genuine, and not worried. He grins, and keeps dancing.

"**Oh, yeah, you like that, huh?**" he asks in a confident manner.

By the time I look back at Cheng, it is too late, and he is coming over here, with his friends, his eyes fixated on the dancing American boy with the funny accent. I push the end button on the cell phone upon their arrival, silencing the music, and place it on the bench next to me.

Cheng stares at the boy, who hasn't noticed him approaching, for a second more, then turns to glare pointedly at me. He comes to a full stop when he's standing directly over me.

"You're supposed to be practicing," he says in a menacing voice, looking at the abandoned violin on the bench beside me.

"I am practicing," I tell him, slightly raising the sheet music I had placed in my lap.

"No you're not!" he looks at the sheet music with disdain, "What is this? You don't need this!" He slaps the papers out of my hand harshly, enough to make my hand sting a bit from the hit. I stand up so he won't be looming over me; so I won't feel so small.

"What's your problem?" I find myself asking.

The American boy looks confused, as Cheng is speaking Chinese and he does not know who he is, what he is saying, or what he wants. He bends down to pick up the sheets, as he does so, Cheng looks at him murderously. I turn to gather my violin and its case and quickly put them away.

"**Leave it**!" Cheng demands, speaking English so he can understand. But the American boy just steps closer to hand me the sheets. I wish he wouldn't bother. Cheng just turns to him and slaps them out of his hand in a harsher way than he had done to me.

"**Come on, dude**," the boy glowers at Cheng before bending down to retrieve the abused papers yet again. I stop myself from snapping at him to put the pages down and walk away. I would rather he not get on Cheng's bad side. His time here would be so much easier if he stays on his good side, no matter how small that side is.

"**I said leave it**!" Cheng tries to swat the paper out of his hands for the second time, but fails as the boy moves his hand to avoid the hit. And to add flame to the fire, he gives Cheng a daring glare. Now Cheng's attention focuses on him. And I wish for the boy that he would just leave. In the next instant, Cheng's hand is on the boys face, and Cheng pushes him roughly to the ground, grabbing the sheet music from the boy's hand in one swift movement. It all happens in less than three seconds. I feel bad for the boy, as he blinks up, half angrily, half surprised. And I watch in horror as he rises to his feet and takes a fighting stance. He does not know what he is getting himself into.

Cheng's friends begin chanting all around me, urging him to fight. Of course Cheng isn't going to back down now; his cocky nature will not allow him to. He motions with all four fingers for the boy to attack. And the boy charges at him. But before I—and apparently the boy—can see much of anything, Cheng crouched down, and sends him crashing to the ground with a sweeping kick. The boy looks dumbfounded. He was not expecting that at all.

"Stop it!" I cry to Cheng, "Leave him alone!" And I try to run to the boy's aid, but Cheng's friends grab holds of my arms and pull me back firmly. And I am unable to help. One of Cheng's friends steps in front of me to block me from moving any closer; I recognize him as Liang. And the other one, who I am pretty sure is Zhuang—the awful one with the hat—goes to pull the American boy off the ground roughly, challenging him to continue this fight. They all join in, telling him to hit Cheng, to fight him back; Zhuang is laughing as he does so. The boy shakes his arm away, taking no heed of their taunting, for he cannot understand what they are saying. Instead he looks at me, probably to translate. Then they all start shouting, "**Go, go, go!**" and "**Go get him!**"which the boy does understand, and he turns around to charge again. Cheng looks amused, but not caught off guard that he has decided to keep trying. Cheng uses this charge to his advantage, simply throwing him over his shoulder; the boy's attack was blind and reckless. And the boy lands squarely on his back, which knocks the wind out of him. I turn my head slightly just before he lands, but I still hear him hit the ground. His face scrunches up in pain and he coughs roughly in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. Cheng's friends cheer.

There is a boy, a white boy with white-blonde hair, who's name I cannot remember—the boy who brought the American boy to the playground. He steps to Cheng, trying desperately to calm him down, to tell him that the boy knows nothing about him or this place. Cheng is annoyed by this. He interrupts his pleas and demands that the white boy leaves.

After much struggle, the American boy pushes himself off the ground again and faces Cheng. The blonde boy steps back, a defeated look on his face. I mentally scold him for not trying hard enough. The American boy was his friend first, right?

The American boy wipes his arm across his eyes. He looks as though he could cry. Like he is going to just burst out into tears of humiliation and pain. And I don't blame him. And I can't help him.

The boy throws a punch, but Cheng catches his wrist effortlessly. The boy's newfound look of determination quickly shifts to one of terror as Cheng delivers a ruthless blow to his stomach. Before the boy has the chance to double over in pain, he is kicked in the abdomen firmly and is sent to the ground yet again.

Cheng glares at the boy spitefully. "**You wanna fight? Huh, Karate Kid?**"

And I pretty much know how this will end.

ooo

Sometimes he tells me I annoy him. He openly states that he no longer wants to be around me. We disagree on many things. And the few times that we do talk mostly result in him bluntly telling me how irritating I am to him. I am not sure why, but these words sadden me. I do not want him to feel this way about me. But he is an angry person; a person taught at a young age to act the way he does. So I tell myself that he cannot help it, that it isn't personal; everybody irritates him at some point. But this still does not keep me from feeling disappointed when he looks at me with those cold, magnetic eyes before turning his back to leave. And I just watch him walk away most of the time, because I know that trying to reason with him will just aggravate him more.

And now as I try my hardest to concentrate on violin practice, all I can think about is the look on his face—in his eyes—when he first looked at the American boy (who I earlier found out is called Dre Parker). And then the look he gave me, as if I had somehow offended him.

It has become an unintentional ability of mine to read his feelings through his eyes. I spend so much time looking at them—into them—it was almost inevitable. And since his face is blank and indecipherable nearly all the time, it really comes in handy. I pride myself at being the only one able to somewhat read Cheng.

ooo

"**Ms. Mei-Ying**?" I suddenly hear the thick English accent of my violin tutor sound through my thoughts, "**Are you paying attention to **_**anything**_** I'm telling you**?" He gives me a stern look and I look away timidly.

"**Sorry Sir**," I murmur my apologies. Lately it is becoming hard to concentrate.

"**Stop daydreaming**," he commands, his tone unyielding, "**you need to focus! Do you know how important this audition is to your parents**?" My tutor always fails to mention that this audition is important to me as well; it will determine my future. Although he does not seem to see me as the type to take responsibility for myself. I should probably take this offensively, but getting accepted into the Beijing Academy of Music is much too important to defy the tutor. And he is my elder, so my parents expect me to be polite.

"**I understand, Sir**," I reply obediently and pick up my violin.

My tutor stares hard at me for a couple of seconds, then says, "**Alright, time's up. I'll see you next practice, but take what I'm telling you and incorporate it into your at-home practice, understand**?"

"**Yes sir**," I nod as I pack up my stuff. If I keep allowing my mind to wonder during practice, then pretty soon there will be almost nothing for me to _incorporate_.

ooo

I often wonder if Cheng talks about me around his friends. Maybe I'm brought up in random conversations? Sometimes? The majority of Cheng's friends do not really talk to me. And by the majority, I mean all but Liang. Liang is the only one that will speak, and that is why I always remember him by name. He is cruel, and he bullies people, and lives and breathes Kung Fu, just like the rest of them. But there is something different about him; he isn't quite as—_heartless_, for lack of better word. He is just a level lower than them in brutality, or maybe sometimes just half a level lower. He is a lot kinder to girls too. I mean, the other guys would not dare attack a female, but that does not stop them from being rude. Liang is more of a gentleman, so being around him is more or less pleasant.

I cannot say the same with being around Cheng, however. Being around him can be extremely nerve-racking. I feel the strange obligation to do whatever I can to not upset him. That usually means that I don't do much talking. It is completely logical for one to think that since being around him makes me feel this way, I would avoid it. But I don't. When he is not busy making somebody miserable, I actually long to be around him. It's strange, really.

But I would never openly admit it.

_The hold he has on me_.

I deny it to myself. But I know it is there. And it isn't fair.

_That it is me who feels this way_.

ooo

"**He's looking over here again**," Dre Parker murmurs to me through his teeth. He slides his eyes to the right quickly, keeping his head bent down. Then, as though he is seen staring, he snaps his dark coffee eyes back down towards his food.

"**He is**?" I feign a little bit of surprise, even though I was aware of his deep onyx gaze well before the boy sitting across from me was. But nobody has to know that. Except for the owner of those eyes.

_Cheng_ always knows.

"**Yes**!" Dre hisses quietly—almost whisperingly—trying his best to keep himself from looking back at him. "**He freakin' hates me."** He picks up a noodle with his thumb and forefinger. I guess he has given up on the chopsticks. He's been trying to eat with them the whole lunch period.

"**He does not**," I disagree, though it is not at all a true statement of disbelief. I believe—no, I am _sure_ that Cheng is perfectly capable of feeling hate. Sometimes for no evident reason at all. But I would not feel right telling Dre that. It would only make him feel worse.

"**Are you kidding me**?" Dre sticks with whispering, for whatever reason, "**I swear the dude would kill me if it was legal**!" It's more like a whispering exclamation. I don't know how else to contradict his accusation so instead, I settle for giving him an apologetic look. Dre looks at me funny.

"**That was kinda suppose to be a joke**," he states slowly. "**Wait, you don't seriously think he'd**…" his dark brown eyes widen. He looks half frightened, half disturbed. I realize my mistake and force out a laugh to lighten the mood. And thankfully, he laughs too. He turns to the left and unzips his backpack.

"**Wanna see a picture I drew**?" Dre asks, taking out a folder.

"**Sure**," I nod with a smile as I finish up the last of my lunch. Dre pulls out a sheet of paper and lays it out in front of me proudly. It is a picture of me. Me on a bench with my violin. It actually is not half bad. I pick up the picture.

"**This is pretty good**," I tell him, smiling brightly.

"**Well uh, you know**," he says.

"**I know what**?" I ask him, placing the drawing back on the table. He gives me this really funny look. Then he shakes his head.

"**Never mind**."

I laugh and grab the folder to look at some of the other things her has drawn. I open it and flip through. I do not recognize any of these people, but it's nice to look.

"**That one's my mom**," he tells me proudly when I come across a picture of a woman with curly hair.

"**Who is this**?" I ask, pointing to a boy.

"**My best friend from Detroit**," he says and I can tell by the look on his face that he's feeling a bit nostalgic. I place my hand over his tenderly to somewhat comfort him. It has to be hard moving to a new country, especially if there is an entirely new language and culture to learn. He definitely deserves a break.

I do not want to keep the mood a solemn one, so instead I look through some more of the pictures, complimenting the really nice ones. I am glad that violin practice was canceled for today's lunchtime.

I stop at a picture of what looks like Dre fighting someone.

"**What's this one**?" I ask him, turning the picture towards him. Dre looks a little bashful, and then he glances tersely to the right, at Cheng, who is now listening to something one of his friends is telling him. I mentally sigh in relief that he has something to distract him from staring daggers over here.

"**You weren't suppose to see that one**," he murmurs coyly and I can't help but giggle at his adorable embarrassment.

"**You want to beat him up that bad**?" I ask him, though I wish he would just tell somebody about Cheng and his friends messing with him.

"**Yeah**," he replies seriously, "**I wish I could. I write about it in my diary all the time**."

We both are quiet.

"**You have a diary**?" I question teasingly. He looks uncomfortable, like he has said way too much than intended. Though he quickly replaces that look with one of nonchalance.

"**Yeah, uh, y'know, like a, a man-diary**," he stammers out, "**a book, journal thing**." I laugh at his silly explanation. He is so funny. He laughs too, but it is an uneasy laugh. Though he stops very abruptly. I follow his gaze to the right, just as Cheng approaches our table, with Liang and Zhuang in close tow.

"What are you laughing about?" he asks blankly. Though I am confused as to whom that question is directed to because though he is speaking Chinese, he is looking squarely at Dre.

I guess it was rhetorical because instead of waiting for answer, he sticks his hand in Dre's lunch and pulls out a couple of noodles and drops them back in the styrofoam plate.

"**You weren't going to eat this, right**?" he asks him in English this time. Then he grabs the plate and flips it over, spilling the contents all over the picture I had been looking at.

"**Dude**!" Dre exclaims in frustration as he grabs the ruined paper. Zhuang and Liang laugh as Cheng smirks cheekily. I watch helplessly as Dre tries to clean up the mess they made. He knocks Dre's open backpack on the floor and kicks his stuff around with the help of his two friends. And after grunting rudely, he strolls away.

I glare at his back until he reaches the exit of the cafeteria. He turns around and meets my gaze. His eyes go from bland to anger. _Full on_ anger. And that catches me off guard. Then he walks out of the cafeteria.

**And that's the first chapter. Just a few things:**

**For one, I don't know Chinese at all, so since this whole story should technically be in Chinese since it's in the perspective of Mei-Ying, only English parts will be in bold letters.**

**Second, I skipped the part about Mei-Ying asking to touch Dre's hair; it seemed really irrelevant, since she was feeling kind of uneasy about Cheng's staring.**

**Also, I don't know if Dre really draws for a hobby, but I took the part when he was drawing the lady and the cobra and ran with it. **

**So yeah… and you can continue the cycle from above by reviewing this story for the Karate Kid Remake.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I really appreciate the reviews I got. You guys really are great. I'm not really planning on making this story extremely long, but I hope I don't disappoint you guys with what I do write. :D**

**Please proceed.**

It is a strange ability he has; the ability to hide his feelings. It does not really seem to bother anyone, except for me, of course. That is just Cheng.

_It is just the way he is_.

But how are his friends satisfied with that? How are they not curious as to what he is thinking? As to what he is _feeling_? It kills me when he gets moody, and does not tell anyone what is wrong. And I don't even know if I am considered his friend. How is it that I care so much?

His facial expression is usually very stoic. Unreadable. But there are times when my talent becomes useful, when he unintentionally shows me how he feels through those ebony, tunnel-like eyes.

That being said, he is not a complete robot. He has fun with his friends and is respectful to his parents. He laughs—every once in a while—and it is beautiful. He just is not open with me.

In fact, more than a lot of other emotions, he shows very much pride. He is confident in everything he says and does. Most of the time it is over confidence. But then again, all of his friends have this air of confidence about them. And that gets them lots of places; nobody in school would dare provoke them. They know better than that.

ooo

"**Are you sure he's not your boyfriend**?" Dre Parker keeps asking me this. I sigh before shaking my head.

"**I am sure**," I tell him again. I am unsure as to why he keeps asking this question as if the answer is going to change the next time. Cheng and I are not even really friends, our parents are close. But no use repeating this; I have already done so numerous times. Dre just purses his lips and looks at the ground until we arrive at the rows of lockers.

"**Well if you're sure**," he calls down to me from his locker, "**we should hang out tomorrow, like, outside of school**." He slams his locker shut after pulling out a thick textbook. He walks up to me, throwing his backpack on his shoulder and looks at me hopefully. And how can I turn down that face?

"**Okay**," I smile cheerfully as his caramel face lights up. I can have fun with him before practice; maybe show him around a bit. He needs a friend to hang out with.

He gives me one more smile before walking off in the opposite direction to go to class. I smile back, though it's at the back of him, and start the walk to my own class. I walk slowly, casually, since my class is very close to the locker area, thinking up ideas for fun things around town Dre and I can do tomorrow. I wave to a couple of friends on the way and smile politely at other kids I do not know. And then I hear my name. Or, at least I think I hear my name. I look to my left and then right. Nobody. So I shrug and keep walking.

"Mei-Ying," then there is a snicker that follows. I turn around, nearly bumping right into another body.

"Sorry," I murmur and look straight into Zhuang's grinning face. I back up slightly, as he is standing really close. I look to the right at Liang, before turning back toward Zhuang. I always feel so uneasy around him.

"Got plans tomorrow?" he asks me. I can hear the grin in his voice and I turn to Liang and look at him in confusion. He stares back blankly. I look back to Zhuang and his grin widens. Then his grin drops to a look of sincerity. "**Maybe we can hang out tomorrow? You know, outside of school**?" He looks at me hopefully, sticking his bottom lip out, and clasps his hand together in mock pleads. His English sounds a bit sloppy, but I understand him clearly, and I know who he is imitating. Liang follows suit, clasping his hands.

I glare hard at Zhuang and he laughs. I look at Liang in disbelief. Liang looks back as if he is pondering over whether to join in the laughter or not, so he settles for a blank, uncaring stare. I sigh, frustrated, and turn around to run to class. I hear Liang join in laughing with Zhuang no more than two seconds after I have turned my back.

ooo

Zhuang—_the awful one with the hat_. I have never liked him very much. He is rude and thinks that _everything_ is funny. He is also Cheng's biggest cheerleader. He eggs Cheng on in fights, and even urges his competitor to fight. He is annoying and teases everybody and he usually wears some kind of hat, except for when he is in school.

He sometimes comes over Cheng's house when I am there with my parents. And just like the rest of them, he is respectful and soft-spoken towards the adults but when my parents push me to go join Cheng in the other room when they are talking with his parents, Zhuang is back to his teasing, grinning self. He usually does not talk to me, so when he is over—or any of Cheng's other friends beside Liang—I just sit there and watch television, or find something small to toy with while the boys talk and joke and play.

Being alone with Cheng at his home—or my home, for that matter—is always somewhat worrisome, but it sure beats time with him and his friends. At least I am not entirely ignored.

ooo

Dre and I met at lunch yesterday before my practice and decided to meet at the front of the school today. Neither of us knows where the other lives, so this was the next best thing. I smile when I see him already there. I am pretty early, so it is pleasantly surprising to see him here before I am.

"**Hey**," he greets me shyly.

"**You are here so early**," I comment, which just makes him look even more bashful. I laugh. He shakes his head and looks back at me with a new found confidence. He holds his arm out to me.

"**Shall we**?" he asks, really smooth. And I laugh again.

"**We shall**," I reply looping my arm through his. And we are off, with me leading, since he does not know his way around very well. The only thing that I hope is that we do not run into Cheng and his friends today. They are always out and about, doing who knows what. I want Dre to have a good day today. It's only fair.

We walk around for bit, him observing everything for what looks like the first time.

"**My mom loves it here**," he says out of the blue. I look at him thoughtfully.

"**How do you like it**?" I ask him, curious as to how he will answer this. He is quiet for a while, and stares at the ground. He kicks a rock and watches it roll until it stops several feet in front of us.

"**It's okay, I guess**," he shrugs with one shoulder half-heartedly. I can tell he does not like here very much. And Cheng is not making it any better. He takes a look at my concerned expression and feels the need to sugarcoat his feelings. "**But you're cool. And Harry**."

I do not recognize that name. "**Harry**?"

"**White boy**," he tells me, "**blonde hair**." And I remember him as the boy from the park.

"**Yeah, he's cool**," he continues, "**I ate with him at lunch yesterday, since you had to practice**." I nod and look back ahead.

From a little ways ahead, I hear the loud simultaneous grunts and shouts of the young boys of the Kung Fu dojo. I look to Dre, ready to turn around and go another way.

"**Naw, it's cool**," he responds, "**we're not gonna let that bother us today**." And I have to commend him on his maturity.

We reach the place and Dre stops to stare in awe at all of the kids in their red uniforms on the grass. So I stop too. We watch as the little boys go from different positions and shout back at the booming voice commanding their every move. I look at Dre. He looks completely engrossed in their movement, with his mouth slightly ajar in admiration. I wave my hand in front of his face playfully.

"**Would you like to stay**?" I ask him, "**We can sit here if you want**." But he just waves it off and continues walking. So I continue too. I glance at the small building that I know is the room where Cheng and his friends practice. I wonder if he is in there right now. I do not know his practice schedule, whether or not it is the same as the small boys on the grass area.

We walk until we begin to come across small shops and stands filled with people and lively chatter. Dre wanders off to a few of the stands and looks at all the things being sold. We walk around the area, Dre asking every once in a while what something is, and me laughing at a lot of his reactions and facial expressions. We try a few of the samples being handed out and have short conversations with the pleasant adults—with me serving as the translator.

And after a while of strolling around and socializing, we come to an ice cream stand.

"**Let's get ice cream**?" I suggest, though it sounds more like question than suggestion. He nods enthusiastically and I whip out my wallet as we make our way to the stand. And after ordering both our ice cream for us in Chinese, I search my small wallet for the proper amount of money.

"**No, I'll get this**," Dre offers, fiddling with his money clumsily. He drops the majority of it on the ground. He sighs in frustration and bends down to retrieve the fallen change. I laugh as I stoop down to help. And after counting up the correct amount, we hand the man the money and pick up our cups.

"**So much for trying to be smooth**," Dre comments with a small chuckle. I watch him in amusement but I am grateful for his efforts.

"**Thank you for paying**." I say, before taking a small bite of the ice cream. He smiles in return and shoves a spoonful of his own treat into his mouth.

We come across an apartment complex—and Dre is excited to point out that he lives here—and stop at the park. Dre walks over to the bench I had been sitting on when we met each other and plops down. So I do the same.

"**Today was a good day**," he states and continues devouring his ice cream. And I am glad to hear that. He deserves a good day. So I just smile and nod in agreement. Then a thought comes to me and I cannot resist.

"**Is it something to write in your diary about**?" I ask him, trying my hardest to keep a straight face. But it is impossible, so I look straight ahead instead of at him. I see him look at me with his jaw dropped in surprised out of the corner of my eye.

"**That's real cold**," he replies and shakes his head.

I am not sure what he means by that, but I laugh anyway.

ooo

Now even though Zhuang is terrible and I try to avoid a lot of contact with him, it is Liang that disappoints me. He is a pretty decent guy with decent manners. In my opinion, befriending Cheng and the others was bad for him. It's like he was a clean sheet of paper that needed writing on, but the wrong type of pen made its mark. Like a sharpie, or something. And now it is permanent and you can see the ugly mark on the other side of the paper.

And what I think? I think Cheng is the sharpie.

ooo

My friend Dao-Ming wants to go to the arcade today. She says it is not so much for the games; she just likes being around all the boys that go there. I think she is silly.

"I am not silly," she says in her own defense, "that's perfectly normal."

And that is pretty much how our conversation goes as we walk to the arcade.

"Speaking of which," she says suddenly, "you sure are spending lots of time with that new American boy." She looks at me for some kind of confirmation.

"He is my friend," I tell her simply, but I can tell by her deadpanned expression that she is expecting more from me. Though I do not know what else to tell her, because that truly is all there is to it.

"You think Cheng likes this _friendship_?" she puts an annoying amount of emphasis on that word. I look at her in something like skepticism.

"What does he have to do with any of this?" I inquire, looking at the ground in sudden timidity.

"You know what I'm talking abou—hi!" I look up at her sudden change in tone.

And Liang is looking back at me, though when I look at him, he looks away.

Dao-Ming likes Liang. She always has, and she gets all gushy and girly around him. It is pretty entertaining, actually, since she acts so cool in front of most other guys.

"Where are you going?" she asks him in a voice an octave higher than usual.

"Practice," he answers simply and I notice the duffel bag he has in his right hand; probably filled with his changing clothes for practice. Then he looks at me and says: "I don't think he does."

"What?" I look at him in confusion. He shifts his bag to the other hand.

"I don't think Cheng likes it," he elaborates his response a bit. I look back and forth between the two of them; back at Dao-Ming to my right and then across from me to Liang. They both just stare back at me.

"I think you guys are imagining things," I conclude finally. Dao-Ming sighs, irritated, and rather loudly. Liang just shrugs nonchalantly, like the whole thing means nothing to him. He walks closer to us and to my left. But before he leaves, he stops right next to me.

"If you say so," he says quietly, and then he continues on his way.

ooo

I don't know why, but just the thought that Cheng might actually take the time to care what I do kind of makes something inside me flutter. It is all so confusing.

What does he really think of me? Does he even have an opinion on me? Is it a good one? If only he knew I have an opinion on him…of some sort. Although honestly, I am unsure as to what that opinion is. Whether it is a good one or bad one is unknown to me. It fluctuates.

I can think that I completely dislike him. But then he looks at me with those eyes that have so little—but _so much_—emotion and it's like my outlook on him changes drastically.

_And it isn't fair_.

That just one look is all it takes to change my mind.

And now he has brought me back here. To the dojo. But he did not even have to drag me. Or tell me; or even _be there_ to make me come. I just thought about him and let my feet take me here. And as soon as I come in contact with the see through door of the small dojo, I peer inside and my eyes are instantly drawn to him.

_And he is looking at me_…like he already knew I would be here. And that both frightens and angers me.

I hear Master Li bellow out a command, but just barely, through my clouded thoughts. The boys in black all place their fists against their opposite palms and bow in respect. But _he_ watches me the whole time; as he dips down and raises back upright. And looking away from those ebony eyes is impossible.

Then he opens his mouth slightly and my eyes drop down to his lips. They form words. Silent words. But I do not know what he is mouthing. But it does not matter much now.

And when he is done saying whatever it is he is saying, he grins.

Like a _full out_ grin.

**Sorry for the delay. After doing the first chapter, I went absolutely blank. I know you should type the first chapter with the second one in mind, but I was just so excited to put the first one up that I just kinda went with the flow. I hope this chapter was okay. Please tell me in a review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Man, this support is great, guys. I really appreciate those of you who are reading and reviewing this story. I hope I continue to meet your expectations. :D**

It is a strange thing that happens when I see him with other girls.

I simply do not want to call it jealousy. That sounds too juvenile. I want to say it is deeper than that. _Almost like betrayed_. But that is silly because there is no particular loyalty between us. So it isn't like he is being disloyal. And it isn't like he likes these other girls. I honestly don't think he knows how to. The whole idea of actually being attracted to a female seems below him; unimportant or unnecessary. What, with all these feelings of hate and mercilessness drilled into him by that appalling Master Li, It would not surprise me if he were incapable of feeling such an emotion, or at least unable to express it.

And even with all this obviously clear to me, I still cannot help but feel somewhat envious of the girls who get a chance to talk with him.

And somewhat betrayed.

I am trying really hard not to watch them talk but my eyes keep automatically sliding to the left. They are not supposed to be talking in class to begin with. We are supposed to be taking notes on the documentary video our teacher has played for us. I have not seen him write a single note in his note book since the video started, about fifteen minutes ago.

Not that I have been watching him the entire time or anything. Because I haven't.

And now she is leaning in close, whispering something. I watch his facial expression go from blank to slight amusement at whatever it is she is telling him. He catches me staring and looks back at me. The girl turns around to see what he is looking at and I quickly turn away and back towards the television. And it takes all I have not to turn back around and meet the gaze that is burning a hole in the side of my face.

ooo

I catch up with Dre on my way to the next class. He looks genuinely happy. And that makes me happy. It is apparent that he has not had any _run-ins_ today. And for that I am glad.

"'**Sup Mei-Ying**?" he chirps cheerfully when I reach him.

"**Hello**," I reply, "**how are you**?"

"**Great**," he says, readjusting his backpack on his shoulder. I do not know why he does not just put the bag on both shoulders. "**Are you eating lunch in the cafeteria today**?" I nod with a smile and he brightens.

"**Mind if Harry joins us**?" he asks.

"**Not at all**," I tell him. I do not really know Harry, but it would not hurt to become more acquainted with him, especially since he is Dre's friend. His light brown face brightens even more—if that is even possible. And I mentally ponder inviting over Dao-Ming too.

"**Cool**," he concludes, "**see you then**." Then he jogs—almost _skips_—off ahead of me to class. And I turn around to head in the other direction. I look around for Cheng's friends. Then I feel silly for doing so. But that doesn't mean I don't continue to search left and right with my eyes as if Zhuang is going to just spring out of nowhere. I should not let them make me feel paranoid enough to make me check my surroundings every time I talk to Dre.

And I sigh. Because it is sad that the thought even crossed my mind.

ooo

_He opens his mouth slightly and my eyes drop down to his lips. They form words. Silent words. But I do not know what he is mouthing. But it does not matter much now._

_And when he is done saying whatever it is he is saying, he grins._

_Like a _full out_ grin._

_I cannot really tell, myself, what kind of facial expression I am giving him. I only imagine that it is one somewhere between confusion and discomfort. And at that moment, half of me wants to leave. But the other half is more dominant, it seems, and my feet stay planted firmly to the ground. And my eyes stay trained on his beautiful grinning face._

_And it is not a playful, friendly grin. No sir. It is haughty and cruel and just screams "I told you so!" in a loud, cocky tone. And this kind of confuses me, but enchants me nonetheless. It is absolutely captivating to see the lower half of his face match his eyes instead of one of them being blank._

_I tilt my head to the side and say aloud but still barely audible, "What?" and though I know he cannot hear me, I know he can see me._

_But instead of forming some type of answer, he smirks. Then Master Li shouts out another command and all the boys in black start what I assume is warm up; going into all their stances and positions, hitting every pose firmly, all the while shouting out things I don't even care about deciphering in my fuzzy state. He watches me intently as he does so for another moment before turning back towards the Master for the rest of the [what I assume is the] warm up drill._

_And I end up staying for the entire practice. Just watching him. I watch him pose. I watch him bow. I watch him laugh at something Zhuang does when the Master is not looking. I watch him as he observes his teammates sparring with one another. I watch as he is called up to spar. I watch as he coldly and mercilessly beats his opponent. I watch as he finishes the fight and looks to Master Li for some kind of approval [like he always does]. I watch as Master Li nods his head in some kind of sick consent. _

_I watch it all. But never does he look back at me. It's like he forgot I was there._

_And when practice is over, I stand off to the side and watch the door open and close as each student steps out to leave; some of them notice me and look at me curiously. When the door opens for the fourth time, Liang walks out. He turns to the left and spots me, while holding the door open with his foot. He looks at me with slight bewilderment, like he is asking what I'm doing here. Zhuang walks out of the open door with three other guys and looks at Liang first, then me. He sneers rudely and whispers something to one of the guys next to him. Cheng walks out last—probably after talking with Master Li—and Zhuang taps him roughly with the back of his hand. And now they are all looking at me. I shift to my other foot uncomfortably._

_Cheng murmurs something to his friends and one by one, they all begin to leave, Liang is last, but he reluctantly follows the others, glancing back a couple times. Then Cheng walks up to me. The sun is setting [meaning I have to go home soon] but I can still see the sweat glistening on the part of his forehead that is exposed and the bit that had been running down the sides of his face. His damp, messy hair is sticking to his face stubbornly and there is a small piece flicking up. I resist the urge to comb it down with my fingers._

_"What are you doing here?" he asks, almost accusingly. I take a moment to formulate my answer._

_After giving up on trying to process a valid reason, I reply honestly with, "I don't know."_

_"Good." He says. And I wonder if he heard me correctly. He slowly turns on his heal to walk away but I place a hand on his shoulder. He stops, but only turns his head a little to the side, instead of turning all the way around completely._

_"What did you say to me in the dojo?" He is quiet, like he is thinking._

_"I said: Welcome back."_

_I stare at the back of him in utter perplexity as he jogs to catch up with his friends._

ooo

I did decide to invite Dao-Ming along to eat with us since she often complains that I never sit with her when I don't have practice. She is exaggerating of course. Though now I am having second thoughts since she keeps teasing me about Dre and saying unnecessary things. And she continues with this until we reach the lunch room. I notice Dre next to the lunch line, not in it, for some reason.

"**Hey**," I say when we reach him.

"**Good, there you are**," he gently pulls me in line with him, "**Now you can help me with the chopsticks**." I laugh and Dao-Ming steps in line behind me, passing Dre and me trays.

We go through the line fairly quickly—with me helping Dre get the majority of his food—and then we head to the same table as last time. I sit first. Dre sits next to me on my right and Dao-Ming takes the seat directly across from me. She eyes me teasingly when Dre sits down. But I just pretend as if I do not see her.

"**I'm Dre**," Dre smiles politely at my friend and reaches his hand across the table.

"**My name is Dao-Ming**," she takes his hand and shakes it.

Dre looks around before he picks up his chopsticks and attempts to eat with them. He fails miserably, of course, and I wonder how he has been eating lunch these past few times. Dao-Ming giggles at his clumsiness. And pretty soon, he has a small circle of spilled food around his styrofoam plate.

"**You're holding them wrong**," I inform him, demonstrating with my own. He concentrates his eyes on my hand and tries to mimic my placement in his own hand. After a moment of hopeless efforts, I take the sticks and place them for him. Dao-Ming finds the whole thing entertaining.

"**Hey Dre**," we all look up as Harry joins us, taking the seat next to Dao-Ming and across from Dre. He nods in greeting at Dao-Ming and me before effortlessly picking up his chopsticks and digging them into his food. Dre looks at Harry.

"**I still don't get how you do that**," he murmurs. He drops the sticks. "**Mei-Ying, Dao-Ming, Harry**." He points at each of us so that everybody is introduced.

I hear loud chatter from outside before I even see Cheng and his friends enter; all of them looking as intimidating as ever. They all step in line. And I watch incredulously as some of the kids in line move out of the trios' way. It never ceases to amaze me how many people are willing to go out of their way to please these guys.

They turn around to head to their table. Dao-Ming turns around, with her long ponytail whipping around and smacking Harry in the face, and spots the boys and smiles. Harry sticks his tongue out a little repeatedly to get all the hair out of his mouth.

"Liang!" she tries to call over the loud babbling going on all over the room. He does not hear her though. And she cups her hand around her mouth to try again. But I cannot let that happen.

"Dao-Ming—"

"_Liang_!" He hears her this time and they all turn around. I sigh in frustration. I am still having second thoughts about asking her to sit with us today. She is drawing _unnecessary attention_. Dre and Harry halt their conversation and look at her strangely. Harry is probably wondering why she is calling them over. Dre is just wondering what she is saying [as she is speaking Chinese].

"Come sit here!" she commands. Liang shakes his head, but Zhuang hits his shoulder and whispers something to him. Liang looks to Cheng. Cheng shrugs. Then he glowers briefly at Dre, before following Zhuang to their table. Liang, on the other hand, begins walking this way. Dao-Ming squeals in delight, whipping back around towards the table. Harry is slapped again by the flying ponytail.

Liang hesitantly takes the seat on Dao-Ming's right. I look at Dre out of the corner of my eye. He is looking down at his food uncomfortably. Liang does not greet anybody; he just sits down and starts to eat slowly, as if he is unaware of the awkward silence. Harry clears his throat for some much needed noise and tries to engage Dre in a discussion about something that happened in one of his classes today. I keep my eyes on Liang suspiciously.

He stops eating and looks up slowly to meet my eyes.

"What?" he questions innocently. _Too_ innocently. But he already knows what I am asking and I don't even have to open my mouth. He ignores my silent question, though.

"You like watching us practice?" he asks suddenly. Dao-Ming looks at him, then me, curiously.

"What?" I reply, dumbly.

"You like watching _him_ practice?" he revises the question. And I just look down at my food because I do not know what else to do or say. I am, to some extent, glad that Dre does not know Chinese, and therefore, does not understand what he is saying. I do not want him to question this topic later on.

"What are you guys even talking about?" Dao-Ming cuts in. Harry keeps glancing over here and then back at Dre. I momentarily forgot that he can understand practically everything we are saying to one another.

Liang ignores her and continues to stare me down. I wish he would just drop it. I look over to my left to see Cheng looking at me. And now I have him _and_ Liang looking. Plus there are the frequent glances from Dao-Ming and Harry. Poor Dre does not even know what is going on. I look over at him; he has now resorted to eating his lunch with his hands. How classy.

I ignore Liang and laugh at Dre. Dre looks up, slightly embarrassed.

"**What**?" he puts his palms face up, "**Man's gotta eat somehow**." Dao-Ming and Harry laugh a bit too. Liang looks at him in snooty disgust.

"**That's why you have these**," Liang holds up his sticks, "**I know you're foreign but I didn't think you were that stupid**." He looks at Dre snobbishly. He sounds weird talking in English. You don't hear it too often.

I glare at Liang.

"**Not all of us know how to use them, idiot**," Dre retorts, giving him a challenging look.

"**Idiot**?" Liang repeats, his handsome face darkening menacingly, "**Bet you won't say that to my face**." His look is just as challenging, if not more.

Dre stands up, probably to look threatening. Liang narrows his eyes in total hostility and repugnance, like looking at Dre is an utter waste of his time. Then he stands up, and it is much more threatening since he is taller. I fear for Dre. He seems to think that just because Liang is not Cheng and he did not beat him up that he is not a threat. Liang has never personally beaten somebody up—not like Cheng—but I still fear for Dre.

I grab a soft hold of Dre's wrist, but he pays me no mind as he and Liang continue their stare contest. Harry looks uncomfortable—almost _guilty_, for some reason. But Dao-Ming is looking at Liang in awe, like he is the best thing ever.

I tug on Dre's wrist harder, "**Forget about it**," I murmur to him. And now a few people are turning to look over here and I hear a couple whispers. I look at Cheng, who is looking past me, at Dre. Zhuang is grinning madly, half standing, half sitting.

"Li_ang_," Dao-Ming whines dramatically, standing up to grab a hold of his bicep. I know she has no intention of convincing him to back down; she just wants to touch him. Liang disregards her though, but that is nothing new.

"Liang." and I jump slightly in surprise. I turn around and look up at Cheng. I did not even know he was over here, let alone right next to our table. Liang finally breaks his gaze away from Dre and looks at Cheng, his hostile look going flat in an instant. Cheng nods his head toward Mrs. Po, who is eyeing our table wearily. Liang shakes Dao-Ming off of him and walks over to stand next to Zhuang—who seems to be loving this tension. I make an effort to stand up, but Cheng's hands land firmly on my shoulders and he pushes me back down roughly, keeping his eyes on Dre.

He walks up to Dre and stops when he is standing directly in front of him, looking down at him.

"**You are scum**," he states harshly, and slowly, like he is talking to a little kid, "**Nothing more**." He looks at Liang for a second, then back at Dre, "**And you don't stand a chance**." Dre looks hurt for a split second, but then musters up a defiant stare. I cannot take this.

"Cheng," I stand up and place a hand on his arm, "leave him alone."

"_You_, stop sticking up for him," he points an accusing finger at me, "if he is a man, he doesn't need you. He can handle himself." I see Mrs. Po making small steps over here.

"Yeah," Zhuang pops in, "he doesn't need a _girl_ fighting his battles."

"He probably _is_ a little girl," Liang adds, making Zhuang laugh. Cheng just continues to stare at me firmly.

"**What are they saying to you**?" Dre asks in a mutter, looking back between the three of them. But I act like I do not hear him.

Cheng motions for the others to follow as he prepares to leave us. He walks past Mrs. Po and out of the lunch room. Liang nods in greeting as if nothing was about to happen. Zhuang grins arrogantly to her, as if she would not be able to do anything about it anyway. Cheng just walks past her like she is not even there.

"**What did they say?"** Dre asks Harry this time.

ooo

I have been practicing the violin more often these days at home. I need to get my mind off things, and what better way than to practice? I practice for awhile after I do my homework. As I was practicing today, Dao-Ming had called.

She says she is sorry for inviting Liang over to lunch and that she did not know it would turn out that way. But I don't know how she could not have known when she is fully aware of the conflict between Dre and them. She was just being careless, like she always is around Liang.

I almost feel bad for her. It is obvious to everybody that she likes Liang a whole lot. It is even clear to him. He just acts like he does not know though, because he does not like her. He ignores her and stuff, but does not actually tell her to leave him alone or anything. Dao-Ming always touches and hugs him and plays with his hair, and he lets her. So she seems to think he likes her back, but is just shy about it. But I see the irritated glances he gives her and I notice how he is always giving her the silent treatment. I do not know why she does not notice.

I think it could be handled differently; like he could tell her to stop with all the affection. But tell her nicely. That is, instead of just letting her continue thinking she has a chance with him. But Liang does not like to be bothered with such troublesome tasks. There are lots of girls that find him attractive, but he does not even give them second looks. He can be polite, but he has this high and mighty air about him like nothing is worth his time. He is mature, and thinks his maturity makes him better than most.

They are all arrogant.

Zhuang thinks that everything is created to entertain him. He finds pleasure in other people's hardships and laughs at their discomfort. He loves watching Cheng beat the snot out of others; almost to the point where it is disturbing [kind of like Master Li]. He thinks he is funny and always has to add a silly comment, even when it is inappropriate. He is immature, and seems to be proud of it.

They are _all_ arrogant.

And Cheng thinks he runs things. He loves the power. He likes walking down those halls and having kids look away timidly or clear a path for him. He likes knowing they are all afraid of him. But he really likes showing off his Kung Fu. And though there is usually little to no emotion on his face, his eyes often shine in pride as he strolls around the school and neighborhood.

They are all _so awfully_ arrogant.

ooo

"Mei-Ying!" I hear my mother call me from downstairs.

"Wait right here," I tell Dao-Ming, who has come over to do homework with me. She nods and rolls over to lie flat on her back on my bed comfortably.

"Coming, mama!" I shout back as I rush down the stairs. I spot her at the door, the door open just a bit. "Yes, mother?" I say when I reach the bottom of the stairs.

"You have company," my mother tells me as I approach the door curiously. She moves out of the way of the door and I am surprised to see Liang standing there, with his hands behind his back in a respectable manner.

"Oh. Hi," I say quietly.

"Ma'am, if it is alright with you I would like to have a quick word with your daughter," he says, smiling charmingly at my mother. My mother looks back and forth between the two of us for a moment.

"Sure," she replies finally, turning to leave the living room. Liang drops his smile and removes his hands from behind his back when she leaves.

"Would you like to sit?" I ask, motioning toward the clean, red sofa and glass coffee table in the parlor.

"No." He refuses too quickly, "I'm not planning to stay long."

I nod and look at the floor. Then I cross my arms across my chest and look at his blank face expectantly. "Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to say," he pauses to look at the paintings on the walls and clear his throat, "that I apologize." I look at his slightly guilty face and try hard not to break into a smile.

"I think—"

But he holds his hand up to silence me.

"I talk; you listen." He commands firmly, "It was immature of me to start something with your…with that _boy_." He runs his fingers through his hair in what I guess is nervousness. Liang _never_ apologizes. None of them do. They seem to believe it is beneath them.

"And I also apologize on Cheng's behalf," he continues, quietly, glancing past me to make sure nobody is going to walk in on his apology, "I cannot control what he does. And I don't intend to try anytime soon. He's my best friend. And I don't know what will happen in the future, but I just thought I would apologize in advance, sort of speak." I drop my arms to my sides.

"In advance?" I repeat, suddenly unconvinced.

"That's what I said." He states simply.

"So, that means that the attacks aren't going to stop?" I ask him, tilting my head a bit.

"Probably," he shrugs nonchalantly.

"Then what is the point of an apology?" I inquire fairly emphatically.

"It was an apology in advance," he reiterates, slower this time, as if I did not hear what he said the first time.

"But what's the point of apologizing if you are planning on continuing with whatever you are saying sorry for?" I cross my arm across my chest again and shift my weight to one foot.

"I'm not _planning_ on doing _anything_," he says, annoyed.

"You know what I mean," I tell him, trying to sound kind of aggressive.

"No," he shakes his head, "I don't."

"Tell Cheng to leave Dre alone." I demand. And he looks at me like I am crazy.

"Didn't you just hear what I said?" he is sounding fully irritated now, "I can't control what he does!"

"You're not trying!"

"I shouldn't have to! He's not my responsibility!

"He's _your_ best friend!"

"Why can't you just accept the apology?"

"It's not an apology if you are planning to continue?"

"I'm not planning to do anything! Why are you so annoying?"

I pause to narrow my eyes at him. "Why are you such a jerk?"

By now, our little low voiced—almost whispering—argument has lead him to be all in my face, and me slightly on my tip-toes to reach his face.

"You know why?" he asks venomously, "because being a jackass is so much easier than dealing with _you_. I don't even know why I bother trying to be nice sometimes."

I open my mouth to shoot something smart back, but nothing comes out. I never hear Liang curse. Even though it was not even that bad, it still sounds pretty awkward.

"Mei-Ying?"

We turn around and see Dao-Ming at the top of the staircase. Liang quickly backs off to where he had been standing a couple minutes ago. Then he looks back at me, like she's not there.

"I came to see what was taking so long," she mumbles. "Liang—"

"Not now," he interrupts her, but continues to look directly at me, "we're talking."

At the sound of his harsh tone, she shuts up completely and trudges back up the stairs.

"No, "I say quietly, but firmly, "I think we're done." He glares hard at me for a moment, then he moves to the door, which had been left open.

"Fine." He says darkly.

"You know, I thought you were different." I mutter when he walks out.

"Stop trying to find good in everyone." Then he slams the door, making me flinch.

ooo

Dao-Ming kept asking me what we were arguing about. I told her I did not want to talk about it. And now she is upset with me. But I was just so mad at him; I could not even really concentrate on my homework when I got back upstairs. I didn't want to lie to my mother, so I told her he came over to discuss a small issue. That is almost true, though the issue does not seem so small anymore.

I have never been so mad at Liang. I really thought he would be the sensible one. But I guess he is right; I need to stop looking for good in everybody. Or I will just keep getting disappointed in the end.

And that day, I saw the red sharpie mark on him more vividly than ever.

_And what I think? I think Cheng is the sharpie_.

And it's what I have been thinking about as I walk around the neighborhood. I know I should get home soon and practice but I do not want to go home yet. I want something to do. But the thing is I do not feel like seeing anyone at the moment. I do not feel up to putting a fake smile on and pretending to be all happy about things.

Why can't they just leave Dre alone?

Why can't they just _leave_ everyone alone?

Why do they have to be so evil? Could it be entirely because of Master Li? I do not know.

And then I hear laughter. I turn around and see Cheng and his friends; each of them has a bag of some sort. And I realize that they are heading to practice. And I cannot help myself.

I hide behind a small building until they pass. Then I wait until they have reached a certain point before following them, to make sure I am at a safe distance. And I tag along a couple yards behind unknowingly until they reach the dojo. I sneak up to the door and peek into the door from the side. Pretty soon, the boys come out in their black uniforms and get in their spots surrounding the awaiting Master. Nobody has seemed to notice me. And I hope it stays that way.

I never really noticed how much I love watching him train. I have developed a love for observing him move in that fierce way that he does. It is so effortless and fluid.

And as I watch them bow in respect and prepare to begin, I realize something.

Cheng has this weird _hold_ over me—for lack of better word. I want to be around him. It's sort of like an _influence_.

I am such a hypocrite to Liang.

I could not even tell that he has made a small red mark on me too.

**So it's a little longer. I hope you liked it and that it makes sense. More Cheng-stuff should happen now that Mei-Ying realizes she is drawn to him a whole lot. I cannot promise a whole lot of fluff though. It's not really my thing. Especially if the person isn't very** **"fluffy." **

**And I like Liang. So I want to make him a little important. I hope you want me to as well.**


	4. Chapter 4

**So sorry for the late update. I had major blankage going on and everything I typed would sound wrong. So I'd backspace and start again. And so on and so forth. Plus I'm trying to revive my first story, which I have so terribly neglected.**

It is a strange predicament I find myself in whenever he comes here. To my house.

I can tell he does not want to be here. He never really does. But our parents meet often and that means we have to accompany them.

And he can be so charming around the parents. So sickeningly charming. He actually _smiles_ when he speaks at the table. Though nobody notices that the smile is a forced one and that he only really talks to me when he has to. We just stare at each other the whole meal, only looking down every once in a while at our food and when our parents acknowledge us. That is how it has always been.

And then they send us to the parlor or outside or wherever so they can talk and we can play. But since we are older we do not really _play_ anymore. We never use to play with each other. We would just play in separate corners of the room with whatever toys were there, consistently looking over at each other to see what the other was doing; if they were having more fun, as silly as is sounds.

Now we watch television on opposite sides of the couch. Or if we are at his house he would sometimes have one—or more—friend come over to entertain him. I would just sit, half watching the program, half listening to the boys' conversation. But we are at my house now, so it is just the two of us sitting in the front room watching random television shows.

There is usually thick air between the two of us when we have to spend this time together, but none of the other visits are like this one. There is so much tension in the air that trying to cut it would be like trying to cut a brick with a butter knife. Useless.

Twice today I almost told him about Liang coming over and dishing out that pathetically futile apology. But Liang probably had no intention of letting him know he was going to do something as feeble as apologizing. But I should not care what he intended to do. Every time I think about him I just get so upset. I just want to grab a hold of his shoulders and shake some sense into him.

I glance to the side to see _him_ looking at me strangely. I feel my face go flat and I realize I had been showing my thoughts on my face for him to see. I look away, embarrassed and wait until I no longer feel his eyes on me.

Twice today I almost told him about Liang coming over and dishing out that pathetically futile apology. Five times today I almost made an effort to start a casual conversation with him about school or television. Three times today I almost asked why he hates Dre so much. Seven times today I almost asked how Kung Fu practice is going. He sneezed twice today. I almost said _bless you_ both times. Not like he would have thanked me anyway. And about a million times I've snuck small glances at his still form.

But the anxiety is killing me in a slow and painful way. And the sound of nothingness is buzzing so loudly in my ear, even with the volume of the television at a pretty good level. I cannot concentrate with so much…_nothing_. And when I sneak my million-and-first peak at him, he still looks so composed and blasé. So calm. Slouching down in the couch, with his arm on the rest and legs parted comfortably, his eyes half-lidded in what is either boredom or sleepy. And I am sitting here, crushed against the far end of the couch, legs crossed, hands folded stiffly in my lap.

And I have to do something. I have to _say_ something. Somebody has to.

So I look at him again and—

ooo

"Cheng?"

It just kind of comes out without any thought of what is next.

He turns his head slightly towards me, but keeps his eyes glued to the television screen. That means he is listening. But I stay quiet because I do not really know what to say. I just needed to break the silence in my head.

After a while, he turns to look fully at me expectantly.

"Well, how is, uh, practice going?" I blurt out. Seven times today I almost asked how Kung Fu practice is going. I guess it only took the eighth time.

As expected, he stares at me for a while blankly before his expression shifts to one of slight surprise. Whether it is because I sounded genuinely interested in his training or because I had the will to even ask in the first place is unknown to me. Then he turns back toward the television.

"Okay." he murmurs when he is looking at the screen. And I smile a little smile to myself, at least a bit content that he decided to answer. Though I half expected him to go into detail. I do not know why. I should not really expect anything from him.

ooo

Dao-Ming showed up a little earlier today. She said she was sorry for getting upset about nothing. Well she didn't really say it was nothing, but, she might as well have. Because it kind of was for nothing. But she still asked what Liang wanted when he came over.

I told her he came over to make me mad. Because, well, he kind of did. But she still asked why, so I ended up telling her what happened. She asked why I called him a jerk and I told her because he was acting like one. She asked why I did not accept the apology and I told her because it was not real. She asked how it was fake and I told her it made no sense. She asked if I was still mad at him and I told her I did not know.

Then she asked if his being mad at me meant he was also not talking to her.

I told her most likely. And so now she is upset with me again.

ooo

Just as predicted, Liang has not talked or nodded at me today at all. He barely even looked at me; and when he would, he would grimace deeply and look away quickly. At least I was acknowledged by him though. At least he cares enough to be angry with me and send heated, though fleeting, looks my way when he does decide to spare me a glance.

Cheng, for whatever reason, seems annoyed with me. Well, he never really seems too pleased with me, but today he just seems _mad_. In class and at lunch, I could practically feel the irritation radiating off him like heat from a clothing iron. But unlike Liang, he is not giving me evil glares. He is not even looking at me; and that is how I can tell he is aggravated. He just acts like I am not even there.

And since Dao-Ming is also somewhat upset with me, we only murmur our hellos to each other. This will pass tomorrow. Or maybe even as soon as later on today. But I have Dre—and occasionally Harry—to talk to. I only saw him at the beginning of school and in between a couple of classes since I had practice at lunch, but that was fine.

ooo

And so now school is over for today and I hope things are better tomorrow. I do not think I have violin practice tomorrow at lunch. So I need to go home and practice a little. I have to get straight to it; Cheng has Kung Fu practice today. And as much as I hate admitting to myself that I love watching it, my desire to protect my dignity dulls down quite rapidly.

I wave goodbye to a couple of friends before heading out of the classroom. I hear my name called and stop to chat a little with some of the students in my class. It is not long before I hear whispers begin to arise behind me. I turn around and see a small crowd gathering. I roll my eyes when I hear the sound of Zhuang's voice rise above everyone else. So now it is obvious that this is their doing.

And then it hits me that it might be Dre in the middle of that mass. So I rush over to them. Penetrating the little mob is not all that difficult, and when I do reach the center, I am surprised—but thoroughly relieved—to see that the kid opposite Cheng is not Dre. But it is another American. We have lots of foreign exchange students.

I spot Liang on the other side of the duo at the same time as he spots me. He glares at me, and then starts cheering Cheng on in a loud voice. I know he was not encouraging this with so much enthusiasm prior to my arrival. And I know he is trying to get to me.

I hear a shrill and obnoxious whoop right in my ear causing my hand to automatically fly up and cover it. I turn to my left in annoyance at Zhuang. He takes a while to notice me, as I observe— in disturbance—the gleam in his eyes as he looks ahead. He looks happy, inspired even. This kid worries me. Then he looks at me and his beaming face gets brighter.

"Stupid Americans don't learn, huh?" he says, nudging me in the arm as if I am going to agree with him. I give him another disturbed look.

"You have a serious problem," I tell him.

"That's what she said." He calls back, but I am not really sure why he is yelling when we are right next to each other. And I just look at him because though I have heard people say that, I have no clue what it is supposed to mean. Who is she?

Turning back toward Cheng, I am glad he is not really beating the kid up. He is just pushing him around and spitting insults at him; he is trying to embarrass him in front of everybody. And I know he loves the response the majority of the crowd is giving. Most of these people are just scared of him, and don't want to be the next person in the center with him. It really is sad.

I work up all the nerve I can muster and start to march over to him and stop him, but Zhuang grabs my arm and pulls me back roughly. I glare at him and nurse my arm.

"Stay out of it," he commands, "he's not even messing with your precious American weakling right now."

"He needs to stop being such a bully," I mutter.

Cheng must have heard his obnoxiously loud talking because after shoving the boy into the other side of the crowd, he turns to the right to look at the two of us. He looks right at me for the first time today. And it is as if a weight is lifted off my shoulders.

He looks back at his 'opponent' again and sneers. "Go home," he shoos him off, "if you really want to continue this, do something to irritate me tomorrow." The boy only glares daringly at Cheng when he is sure that Cheng is no longer looking at him, but at me. The crowd begins to disperse slowly as Cheng takes a few steps toward me.

"We have practice today," he tells me, amusement evident in his cocky tone. Liang and Zhuang laugh (with Zhuang a little too loudly) as they all brush past me to leave. I stand there for a few seconds, my face a little red from embarrassment, even though that small comment probably meant nothing to anybody else around.

ooo

Dao-Ming and I are talking regularly again. She is never truly mad at me. I guess it is kind of a spur of the moment thing. And she really does like Liang. Almost to the point where it can get rather irritating and get in the way of things. She believes they are meant for each other. I think otherwise—and apparently so does Liang—and that she should wait for someone even more special. But I still support her.

Liang and I are not really seeing eye to eye at the moment, and so my thoughts of him are a bit lower than usual. And even with that being said, I am forever grateful that Dao-Ming sparked an interest in halfway sensible Liang and not Zhuang. Even Dao-Ming could not get me to put up with him. And yet there are still some people at our school who think he is just the cutest little thing. The 'cuteness' just is not there for me.

ooo

I was late to the Kung Fu practice today. I went overboard on violin practice, and then Dao-Ming called. I tried to be as subtle as possible about rushing her off the phone but I think she could tell. I do not want her to come to practice with me, ever. She would ruin the quiet—well my quiet, since anyone near the place could hear the continuous grunts and chants of the beginner boys in red outside on the field area and it is anything but quiet. She would most likely cause unneeded attention. And so my experience would be far less enjoyable.

Cheng has not looked at me since I have arrived today. I do not know if it is because he has not noticed my presence or if he just chooses not to acknowledge me. It is always nearly impossible to tell. And I do not know which I would rather it be, as silly as it sounds.

And when practice is nearing its end, my mind goes to war. I know I should probably get going right about now; nobody has shown any sign of spotting me, and it would be wise to keep it that way. But that's just the thing: I feel as though I want to be spotted. I want him to stare at me with those dark tunnels he has for eyes, and I want him to talk to me. He would probably say something rude or cocky, but half of me does not care. I just want him to say something to me. He has had some kind of an attitude with me, and has barely looked at me all day—just that once after school. He did tell me that they had practice today, so does that not mean he expected me to be here?

And yet that would be doing exactly what he expects of me. And with my dignity slowly deteriorating, I really should try preserving what is left of it.

But then the battle in my head is interrupted by a loud, demanding, "Hey!" and my head snaps up, my eyes leaving the dirt spot on the floor I had subconsciously been glaring at.

Master Li is staring me down. And thanks to that noisy bellow, the now scattered class has turned from their own conversations to look curiously at me. Zhuang lets out a loud, mocking laugh, but quickly shuts up when the Master sends him a look. Liang settles for a knowing smirk. Cheng is the only one not looking at me; instead, he is looking at Master Li.

Not really knowing what to say, I just stand there and look at the Master as well.

"Can I help you?" he asks in a voice that does not sound like he wants to help me at all.

I shake my head furiously and look at the floor.

"Well than what do you want?" he demands. "Little girls like you shouldn't be out spying on boys. Or did you come to learn Kung Fu?" He asked that last bit sardonically, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

I shake my head again.

"Then what do you want?" he repeats with his voice a bit more firm and it scares me.

"N-nothing," even after clearing my throat and taking a breath to calm down, it still came out in a pathetic stutter. And Zhuang grunts a small laugh. "I was just leaving." And with that I swivel around and rapidly make my way away from the open door. I turn left to keep from being in his view and walk across the grass. I feel my face burning from humiliation and my eyes stinging from frustration, tears threatening to escape. But I suck them back up because I really should not make such a big deal out of this. I just hate being scolded—or almost scolded—in front of people. And I looked dumb in front of an entire advanced Kung Fu class. And Zhuang and Liang laughed at me. It's expected from Zhuang, but Liang is just mad at me. By now I wish he would stop being so angry. And Cheng. He didn't even bother to look at me. That upsets me more than if he had stared at me. And this confuses me.

By now I am jogging and I had not even realized it.

ooo

I had a strange dream last night.

It started out pretty uneventful actually. You know those dreams where you are just falling for most of the dream and you wake up before you have the chance to hit the ground? I had one of those. Well, I have been having dreams identical to that for awhile now. They are very consistent but not at all consecutive; I may skip a few nights before I dream that way again. It has become the regular.

But last night it was a little different. I started out in a slow, uneventful fall, as expected. But then everything started to pass me really fast and I began to fall faster and faster with so much force that I could _feel_ the pressure weighing down on me like a sack of bricks had been place on my abdomen. And I began to panic, flailing my arms wildly and gasping heavily since I found I did not have the ability to scream.

And I woke up in a cold sweat six minutes before my alarm clock is scheduled to go off.

I do not know why it was so worrisome.

ooo

Stepping out of the car for school this morning, I feel groggy and like I have had little to no sleep. After murmuring a goodbye to my mother I reluctantly step out of the car, slowly bringing one leg out of the car at a time. Though stalling is useless because I still have to go to class. I close the door and my mother drives off, waving one more time. With a sigh, I make my way to the gate, down the short walkway, up the few stairs and through the open door, avoiding the shoving of other students. I do not see how they can be so happy and awake. But that is probably just because I feel the total opposite at the moment.

I hear Dao-Ming's voice call out my name before I see her. I turn my head just as she reaches me.

"Good morning!" she chirps gleefully.

"Good morning." My greeting is not exactly enthusiastic. But either she does not notice or is choosing to ignore it.

"Got violin practice at lunch today?" she asks as we walk to class. I shake my head no.

"Good," she smiles, "we can all eat together again."

I look at her. She sighs.

"Minus Liang," she mutters aversely. Then we part ways to head to our respective classrooms.

And thus the start of a long day.

ooo

I thought that the bleary feeling would go away, but I still feel like going home and curling up in bed and not getting up for several hours. And it seems the sky is matching my mood. It has been grey all day. It was harder to concentrate and staying awake was torture. Cheng does not seem so irritated with me today. We have shared glances with one another. Though his were blank and mine were groggy. It is not much, but it is what I am used to. Liang still seems irritated though. We caught each other's eyes. He just glared somewhat. I did not have the heart or the energy to reciprocate such hostility so instead I settled for a faint smile. He dropped the glare and looked away quickly. I could have laughed at the perplexity on his face. But I didn't have the energy.

ooo

By the time lunch rolls around, I feel a bit better, more awake and alert. My gray mood is lifting, but the sky is still looking a little dreary. I wonder if it is going to rain. I did not even notice the weather until well into my second class. I would have brought an umbrella. My mother was running late, and therefore, rushed the morning process considerably. She probably did not think about grabbing an umbrella for herself, let alone think to remind me to bring one.

I am the first to arrive at the lunchroom out of my small group, so I enter the short line for my lunch and then head to the table. Harry is next to come. He sets his trey down across from the spot to my right and smiles awkwardly. We do not usually speak all that much without Dre, so we just sit in a weird silence until Dre and Dao-Ming join us. Dao-Ming had to help Dre with his food, but he really seems to be trying harder with the chopsticks. He will get it soon. Dre takes the seat across from me, next to Harry and Dao-Ming sits next to me, across from Harry—in the opposite seats from where they were last time. I wonder if Dre did that purposefully,

We all exchange greetings. Dre has us laughing when he attempts to greet us in Chinese. His pronunciation is strange and a little off, but it is okay; we all get it.

I find myself watching the entrance. It is as if I am waiting for him to walk in. And when he finally does, I look back down at my food and try to join in the conversation at hand. But it is kind of hard to focus when his eyes are boring into me. And I do not feel like making an effort to ignore him so I look at him too. And I watch him as he walks with his tray to his table. And he watches me too, not really paying attention to whatever his friends are talking about. There are a bit more people with him today. They are not his other friends from Kung Fu—his other friends in that class are all older than the rest of us. They are a few others, some of them I recognize and some I do not. Liang looks at me next but it is blank, like he is debating on whether or to glower at me or not. So he just looks away.

I feel Dao-Ming's eyes on me. I glance at her and she gives me a wondering look. She looks at Liang and leans in to whisper, "Why's he looking at you like that?" She does not actually sound curious; she sounds disappointed. I just shrug because I do not feel like starting a useless bicker.

"**They're looking at us, aren't they**?" Dre asks, looking back and forth between Dao-Ming and I. I can tell he would rather not turn around. So Harry takes the liberty to look past Dre.

"**Yup**," he replies and purses his lips. Dre sighs, but looks to his right anyway. Cheng does not even glance at Dre. He just gives me one more blank look and then looks at his food. Zhuang, however looks at Dre. I can tell he is trying not to break into a grin; that would ruin the hard look he is giving Dre. Zhuang flinches threateningly at Dre and Dre's glare falters. Zhuang looks at Cheng, but is disappointed when Cheng does nothing.

ooo

It is not unusual to see The Cheng family more than once a week. So I do not know why I was slightly surprised when my mother told me that they would be joining us for dinner tonight. My father is running a little late at work, and would be here at about seven. So that is when we will have dinner. My mother told me to finish my homework and then come down to help prepare the food. It is not exactly my idea of a nice relaxing evening—especially with me sill feeling a little sluggish—but it is what it is.

Dao-Ming called about coming over but I told her I had plans.

I finished my homework and helped with dinner like I was told. I even got a little violin practice in after. It was a little after seven when Cheng and his family arrived. They were here before my father. So dinner would have to wait for a little while.

ooo

I watch my mother and Cheng's parents converse to keep myself from staring at Cheng, who is seated on the couch along with his mother and mine. His father is settled comfortably in the armchair and I am left with a seat on the smaller couch by myself. But my gaze slips to Cheng, who is staring at the carpet, his face void of any emotion.

My mother suddenly claps her hands together and says, "Oh, I forgot to set the table!" She excuses herself and rises to do so but I stand up as well.

"I will take care of it," I tell her in order to escape the room. My mother looks at me gratefully and reclaims her seat next to Cheng's mom.

"Why don't you help?" Cheng's mother looks at her son expectantly. It seems as more of an order than a mere suggestion, Cheng nods obediently and gets up from the couch. I somewhat freeze as Cheng walks past me and to the kitchen. The point of offering was to escape. But with a sigh, I follow as the parents obliviously regain their previous conversation.

Cheng is waiting for me near the table when I arrive, though I am not sure why because he should know where everything is located. So since it is apparent that he is not going to begin unless I do, I walk over to the cabinet and remove six white plates. I turn around and yelp as I nearly bump into Cheng, who has managed to quietly make his way right behind me. I look down at his awaiting hands, and then at his stoic face. We stare at each other for a while.

"Plates." He says simply. And I break out of my reverie and quickly shove the plates into his hands before turning back toward the cabinet to hide my red face. I wait until I hear his footsteps saunter away to the table before reaching for the glasses. I take them all out two at a time and set them on the counter. I shut the cabinet.

Cheng has set the plates and is already over at the drawer to gather the silverware. So I take the glasses to the table, having to make a second trip to get the last two.

"Sorry you have to help," I say lamely. He does not respond. He just halts his gathering and stares at the chopsticks. I know this by looking out of the corner of my eye as I set the glasses by the respective plates.

"Liang isn't mad at you," he murmurs out of the blue. I look up at him.

"What?"

He looks out the window above the counter in front of him.

"That kind of thing upsets you, right?" He asks. I just look at him blankly. And when I do not reply, he turns slowly from the window to look at me with those eyes. "When people are mad at you." He finishes slowly. He makes me sound over sensitive, the way he says that. Maybe I am.

"I was mad at him," I reply.

"Why?"

I am hesitant.

"He—" I stop to think and finger the rim of the glass in my hand, "He just said some things."

"About that boy." It is not a question. He just states it. And looks at me with blank, ebony tunnels. He looks down at the silverware in his hands. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. The he looks out the window again. It is quiet for a few seconds.

"Then why aren't you mad at me?" He inquires finally. And I feel his eyes on me as my finger pauses in its circular journey around the rim of the glass.

_Because you are different_.

And I almost say it too.

He finishes gathering the silverware and shuts the drawer. Then he slowly walks over to the table. He steps in front of me and sets the silverware down on the table. The clatter of the cutlery all hitting each other at the same time makes me flinch. He keeps his hands over the silverware and stares at me. I am forced to look up from the glass and at his face. This is the closest he has been to me in quite some time. I look away.

I do not know how to answer that. Not even to myself. So when I open my mouth, I begin to ramble, "Dre is not a bad person. He is really nice and funny and just wants to make friends. Maybe you could try to be understanding of his situation and— "

He snatches the glass out of my hand and slams it on the table, next to the last plate. He then grabs the silverware and proceeds to set them around the table. I feel the annoyance emitting off of him as he does so. I just stand there and look at the table. When he is done, he stops in front of me, though at a bit of a distance this time.

"I didn't talk to you to talk about the stupid boy." He states bitterly.

And as if on cue, I hear the rain I had been expecting all day begin to hit the ground outside.

**It may have not been all that great, but I'd love a review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you again for all of your kind words. I get all giddy when I see a new review.**

**To answer your review, Shmankingowner44, I am aware of the definition of the word **_**flinch**_**, however I was unsure of how to describe the little threatening-jump-thingy without using those words. So I just used **_**flinched**_** and hoped that everybody would catch my drift. Sorry if it confused you.**

**And I apologize, everyone, for yet another long wait.**

**With that said, please proceed with the chapter. **

It is a strange feeling I am feeling right now.

Like I have done something wrong. He is the one who is mean, and cruel, and unreasonable; and all for no apparent reason. He acts like being nice—or at least respectable—to Dre would _kill_ him. It is so ridiculous. And I want to be mad at him for acting like a jerk. So badly. But every time I try to look at all the negativity in his actions, I only feel guilt. Guilt, even though I have done nothing wrong. Right? I am the victim—no, _Dre_ is the victim. Not like it matters though because it does not seem possible to stay angry at Cheng. And when I manage to stay even just a little mad, my body language shows no sign of it. It is really sad.

The good thing is Liang is not mad at me. So neither is Dao-Ming. He smiled at me yesterday. If he is not annoyed with me, the chance of him being annoyed with her is not as great as usual. Sometimes she tells me to stop doing things that make him mad. I think it is rude of her; she does not even pause to hear my side before instantly jumping to his. But then again, I do not really expect anything more of her. So it does not bother me as much.

ooo

"**Mei-Ying**?" Dre's voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up from my folded hands in my lap and over to the light chocolate face of the boy sitting across from me at our signature lunch table. I can tell by the look on his face that he has noticed my absent mind during his rambling. I give him a small smile to let him know I am listening now.

"**You okay**?" he asks after staring me in the face for a moment. I nod quickly.

"**Sorry, what were you saying**?" I ask when I realize he is not going to continue.

"**Nothin'**," he shrugs, "**just about the homework assignment that might kill me tonight**." I laugh and his dramatics. And that is when Harry joins us with his tray of lunch. He decides to sit next to me, on my right today. That is new.

"**'Sup, Harry**?" Dre hold out his hand to slap it with Harry's in a greeting fashion. Harry nods at me and I smile.

"**Where's your friend**?" he asks casually, referring to Dao-Ming, who I am surprised has not showed up yet. I shrug and Dre follows suit.

"**She still mad at you**?" Harry inquires, shoving his chopsticks into his rice, causing some of it to spill out of the sides of the small bowl.

"**I wouldn't say mad**," I tell him.

"**Disappointed**?" Dre throws in. I shrug. And Dre continues, "**She has no reason to be**."

"**She likes that one guy, right**?" Harry adds his third packet of soy sauce to the rice, "**The one that sat over here**." Dre looks slightly interested.

"**Really**?" his face scrunches up in what could be confusion as he leans into the table towards Harry, who insists on drowning the now brown rice with more soy sauce.

"**Yeah**," Harry nods, "**You can totally tell**."

I find myself amused at their gossiping tones.

"**That's why she's mad at you**?" Dre looks to me and scoffs when I do not reply. Because I would not really say she was _mad_ at me. It sounds silly when you say it out loud like that. "**Why does she even like him? He's such a jerk**." Dre mumbles the last part like he's pondering on something important.

"**Okay, I'm confused**," Harry states, finally starting to eat his drenched rice, "**She's mad at you because she likes a guy**?"

"**I wouldn't say ma**—"

"**What's that got to do with you**?" Dre looks equally confused. Then realization dawns on his face. "**He likes you, huh**?"

"**Oh, yeah**!"Harry agrees and they both look at me expectantly. I feel my face go red.

"**Oh, no**," I hold my hands up in what could be defense, "**It's nothing like that. At all**." But they both look unconvinced. And Dre looks past me and Harry towards the entrance of the lunchroom. I hear Dao-Ming's voice, followed by the loud, obnoxious voice of Zhuang. Harry turns around and I do too after a few seconds.

I see them at the lunch line, Cheng in the front, then Zhuang. Liang is next, and there is Dao-Ming right beside him, yapping about something that he clearly has no interest in. I can see it all over his face as he tries to look at anything but her. The rest of the guys are their other friends, whose names are unknown—or at least forgotten—to me.

"**Does she notice he's annoyed**?" Harry wonders aloud. And Cheng has his food and turns around to go to his table. I turn back to our table just as he turns around. I look to Dre and Harry, who are both still looking at them. I silently will them to turn their attention back to our food. Staring makes us look pathetic. But it was silent, so they keep staring anyway.

"**What are you looking at, white boy**?" I hear Zhuang from behind me. His English is one the sloppiest out of their group, so it came out sounding a little strange. But we all got the message, even if it was only intended toward Harry. Dre looks down quickly once he realizes he has not been discovered yet. Harry turns back around, his pale face reddened, his eyes slightly hidden behind his white-blonde hair that has been slowly, but steadily, getting longer and longer. Somebody snickers bitterly; although I have no idea who since I refuse to turn around.

One of them roughly pokes Harry in the back of the shoulder with two fingers; all I see is a hand and wrist, though I suspect it was Zhuang. Harry puts his rice bowl down cautiously, the red spreading from his face to his ears like red food coloring in clear water.

"Why so much soy sauce?" one of them mumbles, referring to Harry's sodden rice. It was probably one of their friends I do not know.

"I think he wants you to stop," I hear Liang tell Zhuang mockingly, any trace of redundancy not at all detectable to me. Zhuang laughs. I look across the table at Dre's scowling face as he stares at the table; his fists balling up so tightly that his hands are shaking. He looks as if he is debating whether or not to say something.

"**You want me to stop**?" Zhuang asks Harry in English, as if Harry is not able to understand him in Chinese. There is another hard poke sent to Harry's back, pushing him against the edge of the table and back again. This time I am sure it is Zhuang touching him.

"**Then tell him to stop**," Liang tells Harry, his English sounding a whole lot better than Zhuang's does.

Zhuang pokes Harry again. "**Tell me to stop, white boy**." The others laugh at him. Where is a teacher when you need one? I glance again at Dre, his glare has hardened and he now has his palms flat against the tabletop, his elbows out, like he is about to get up. And he does; he pushes himself up off of the bench, his glare unfaltering.

"**If he won't **_**I**_** will**," he states firmly, heavily emphasizing the '_I_' in the statement. Now I turn around to look at the group. Zhuang is standing directly behind Harry with Liang next to him—and behind me. Dao-Ming, who I had forgotten all about due to her silence, is next to—but slightly behind—Liang as if she were expecting him to defend her from whatever might happen. Cheng and three more friends of his are somewhat off to the side. Cheng looks amused that Dre would speak up.

"**Ooh, he's gonna tell you to **_**stop**_!" One of the unnamed friends mocks him, putting his hands up in faux defense. Another laughs.

"What a joke," the tallest among them shakes his head as if Dre were worthless.

"No, what an idiot," the thickest of them adds, "no one was even talking to him."

"Didn't you kick his ass once, Cheng?"

"Oh yeah!"

Zhuang laughs loudly.

"That was him?"

"Yeah, he has the same funny hair!"

Cheng simply nods at their questions, but continues to stare at Dre, his amusement slipping to nonchalance of the whole matter.

"But he still buts in!"

"What a damn shame."

"Maybe he needs to get beat again?"

"Yeah!" Zhuang adds, "kick his ass again, Cheng, he's practically begging for it."

I feel Harry flinch lightly next to me, as I am again reminded that Harry can understand every word they are saying; it is only poor Dre who cannot. And he looks frustrated as he watches them exchange awful things with each other in a foreign language.

"**What are they saying**?" he asks Harry and me quietly, keeping his eyes on them.

"**They're talking about, um, beating you…up**," Harry leans in as he says this, the discomfort evident in his low voice. Dre's hard look wavers as his chocolate eyes land on Cheng's charcoal ones. He clears his throat before speaking again.

"**Just..just leave Harry alone**," his command sounding a little more like a suggestion.

"**Or what**?" Cheng speaks for the first time as he walks up and in between Liang and Zhuang, who immediately part to allow him through. Liang steps on Dao-Ming's foot in the process, but either he does not notice her "Ouch!" or does not care, as he does not even spare her a glance.

Cheng pushes Harry and me apart from each other by the shoulders and leans in between us, his hands supporting his weight on the table top as he stares Dre down. I cannot keep my eyes from wandering up the smooth skin that makes up his decently built arm in the white polo shirt he has on and then up his shoulder until I reach his beautiful face.

"**Ching, let's not do this**," Dre's tone weakens. Cheng narrows his eyes at the mispronunciation of his name, but does not say anything about it. Instead he raises his right hand slowly and, with his index and middle fingers, pokes Harry hard in the upper arm, all the while keeping his eyes on Dre's. Harry grabs his own left arm and looks at Cheng, his mouth slightly ajar in question. The others laugh.

"_**What**_** is your problem**?" Dre exclaims, fed up.

"**You are**!" Cheng answers like it is the most obvious thing in the world, "**You should go back to wherever the hell you came from**!" Dre looks a little hurt and I think that is taking things a tad bit too far. Not like he wants to be here either. But it is still even worse when someone makes it clear that you are not welcome.

"Cheng," it comes out before I realize it. And now they all turn to me. Cheng looks _offended_. Just straight out annoyed at the fact that I would even think about addressing him directly. That is what his facial expression tells me. And that, in its own, offends _me_.

I realize that I look very weird just sitting here, not saying anything after drawing attention. Cheng sighs in irritation and I can see it in his eyes that he thinks I am predictable—and that my predictability irritates him. I can see it. And it feels disappointing. He expects me to say one whining line in a pathetic attempt to defend him and then back down. He expects me to let my timidity get the best of me, as usual.

"If you have nothing to say—"

"Just stop it." I hear myself say. "Leave him alone."

Cheng stands up straight, turns his body away from the table and towards me, and looks me in the eye, daring me to continue. At least, that is what I am getting from his facial expression. Our little area gets really quiet.

"**What'd he say**?" Dre's voice breaks the silence. And Cheng purses his lips and turns slowly back around towards Dre.

"**It does not concern you**!" Cheng tells him curtly, as if what we said was this big secret.

"What an annoying little prick." Liang murmurs. Zhuang laughs in agreement and nudges Dao-Ming in the shoulder. Dao-Ming nods and laughs along with them. I stare in disbelief at her. She catches my eyes but quickly looks away.

ooo

_"I did not talk to you to talk about that boy." He states bitterly._

_ And as if on cue, I hear the rain I had been expecting all day begin to hit the ground outside._

_ I hear the front door open from the front of the house, telling me that my father is home. I am grateful for the distraction. I had no idea how to respond to the boy across from me. And even as we hear the parents greeting my father from a long day of work and getting ready to head to the dining room, he keeps staring at me. His glare is not much of a glare anymore—more of an intent look. Like he is trying to search for something. I settle for staring at the button on his dark green shirt, second to the top. _

_ The adults walk in and Cheng turns to them, his expression changing faster than I have time to process anything._

_ "Welcome home, sir," he says warmly to my father, with a respectful nod of the head. My father smiles at his politeness as he approaches us. He kisses the top of my head with a small murmur, "good evening Mei," and an affectionate squeeze of the shoulder to Cheng. Well, as affectionate as there can be from my father—who is a very serious, and sometimes stoic, man of complete business._

_ My mother heads to the kitchen part of the kitchen/dining room to retrieve the food with Cheng's mother in tow. Our fathers take their seats and converse about work and other economic matters that mean little to nothing to Cheng and me at our age._

_ When everything is set and ready, we all sit to eat, with Cheng and me across from each other. _

_ "How is Kung-Fu practice coming along?" My father does not have to look up from his plate for Cheng to know he is being addressed to._

_ "Fine, sir." Cheng answers when his mouth is not full._

_ "He is the top of his class," his father adds with a proud glance in his son's direction._

_ "As expected from such a talented young man." My father's praise sounds a little stoic, but he means it._

_ Cheng smiles a small smile at his food and murmurs his thanks. I narrow my eyes at his meek behavior. If only he were like this when he was not at the dinner table. He catches me staring and I look away. I force myself to stare at the clock on the wall behind him to the right. But he keeps looking at me with this unreadable expression that I can see out of the corner of my eye._

_ And when dinner is over and the parents send us to the sink to wash the dishes, he does not look at me anymore._

_ The adults venture to the other room and Cheng and I begin clearing the table. He still does not look at me and I feel the feeling of guilt slowly creep up and over me until I am practically willing him with my mind to acknowledge me. _

_ When all the dishes are on the counter next to the dip in the granite that is the double-sided sink, he pushes up the long sleeves of his dark green shirt in a messy fashion until the ends reach just below his elbows and takes the side of the sink that is not full of soapy water. I wearily walk to the other side of the sink and stand next to his still form._

_ We stand there for a couple of seconds. Feeling stupid, I grab for the large bowl that was used and plunge it into the scolding water, ignoring the sudden heat scorching my hands. After washing it thoroughly with a dish towel, I hold it out to him, my now slightly reddened hand shaking in the abrupt coolness—and the weight of the bowl, which I should be holding with two hands._

_ As he reaches for it, his sleeve falls back down to his wrist. He pushes it up quickly and takes the bowl from me. And in mid-rinse, the other slips down. He makes that irritated smacking sound with his mouth and puts the bowl down. He shakes his hand of falling water drops and grabs his sleeve with his thumb and forefinger to pull it back up. _

_ A few more dishes and his sleeves fall again. He sighs and begins to repeat the useless process, but I swiftly grab a dry towel, wipe my hands and grab the base of the sleeve before him. He looks at me blankly on account of the contact. I roll up his sleeve the more effective way, trying not to look at his face. But when I am done, we stare at each other awkwardly. He drops his arm to his side and holds up the other one before looking away somewhat embarrassed—for some reason. The gesture it cute._

_ I fix that one too, more slowly, and look at his stoic face. But it is not all that stoic—he looks almost regretful. Almost. I stop mid-roll and sigh softly._

_ "I am sorry," I tell him, my face getting a little hot. _

_ "Yeah," he murmurs. But I am not sure what that means._

_ I look down and realize that my fingers have migrated from clutching the fabric of his halfway-rolled sleeve to wrapping around his forearm. He looks down too and pries my fingers from around his arm. I feel my face go hot with discomfiture and expect him to say something mean, but he holds my hand there._

_ I feel my heart rate quicken as he intertwines his fingers with mine slowly and stares intently at our hands. It is so silent that I can practically hear my heart threatening to leap out of my chest over the soft sound of his low, even breathing. But he looks so natural with his brow slightly creased in what looks like concentration like that. So beautiful._

_ He mumbles something incoherent, but I am so dazed that I forget to ask him to repeat himself. He looks up from our hands and into my—surely reddened—face with an expression I cannot quite read. _

_ He is talking now but I do not hear him; I am too busy watching his lips form words to worry about what those words actually are. And before I realize it, my free hand—my right hand—is reaching up and toward his face. His eyes drop down to my rising hand as he speaks. I touch my index finger to the soft flesh of his lower lip lightly. He stops talking mid-sentence, his mouth slightly parted. He steps closer._

_ "Mei?" my father's voice sounds from the other room. And it is as if I am snapped back to reality, as the sound of rushing water from the sink refills my ears. I instantly drop my hand from Cheng's face and he lets go of my hand and takes three big steps back, looking away from me. "Have you finished the dishes?"_

_ I clear my throat, "Not yet," I say back. I move to the sink to finish the last of the dishes. Cheng does too, with one sleeve rolled higher than the other since I never got to finish rolling._

ooo

And now as I am sitting here. Wondering why Cheng is so confusing. I still feel my face go a little red when I think about our _encounter_. And then I get upset over his continuously horrendous behavior toward Dre. I feel conflicted. I feel like I should do something.

And then there is Dao-Ming. I have not talked to her since yesterday's lunch. Harry questioned her loyalty to us. I told him that she was just trying to side with Liang. Harry thinks she is a bad friend and a total airhead if she thinks Liang is going to give her a chance simply because she sucks up to him. I felt the need to defend my friend. I told him that she is _not_ a bad friend and that he has no idea of her feelings for the boy. Because he doesn't. And neither do I because I do not understand her motives sometimes. But she is my friend.

Harry was quiet after that for a while, but then he said that she needs to find the line between friends and people who choose when to like you and when not to.

ooo

Dre and I decided to go to the arcade today. Dre invited Harry and Dao-Ming. Apparently he does not feel as strongly about Dao-Ming's indecisiveness. Harry was delighted to be invited, but Dre told me Dao-Ming declined. I was surprised to say the least. She loves going to the arcade. For the male population of course, not the actual games. Harry seemed a little too okay with her not going; as in glad. I felt offended for her.

We had to meet at the park, as I did not want my parents getting suspicious of me going out with two males and no females. I feel bad for deceiving them but, I am in no way an indecent girl. I just want to spend time with my friends. It is a pity Dao-Ming decided not to join us.

So now Harry and I are waiting for Dre at the park, sitting awkwardly on the bench.

"I really don't know what's taking him so long," Harry says in his impressively mastered Chinese, "he lives right there, just like me." Harry gestures to the apartment building that is within walking distance from where we are sitting.

"Do you think he is home?" I ask him.

"I don't know," he shrugs, "I knocked on his door but no one answered."

As if on some kind of cue, Dre and his mother come walking up the sidewalk, grocery bags in both their hands. Dre spots us and says a few words to his mother before shoving the bag he had been carrying into his mother's unoccupied hand. He starts a slow jog towards Harry and me.

"_**Dre**_!" She exclaims in exasperation. Dre sighs heavily and turns to look at her over his shoulder. She sighs as well and shakes her head. "**You guys have fun**." Dre does not need to be told twice, as he turns back to us, yelling a _'__**see ya, mom**__!'_ without looking back.

"**Sorry I'm late, guys**," he says when he reaches us, "**my mom needed to run to the store**." He and Harry greet each other with some kind slapping-of-the-hands handshake. He turns to me and we settle for simple high-five. And we waste no more time as we start on our way to the arcade. Harry and Dre show off the money they were given for this little outing. I hadn't been planning on playing many games, so I have the least money out of the three of us.

It is a pretty nice day, and the walk is pleasant, as I quietly listen to the boys' converse about nothing in particular and look around at all the surroundings as if I had never seen them before.

ooo

Walking by the dojo, I think of Cheng. I cannot really see myself watching anymore practices for a while. Getting caught by Master LI was beyond embarrassing. And who is to say that he won't be looking around for anymore weird girls that like to watch Kung Fu classes? He might expect me. And plus my parents are beginning to question where I am for the duration of the practice. They have not asked me directly but I feel it coming.

ooo

We are walking into the double doors that make up the entrance of the arcade, with Dre and Harry's volume increasing a little to hear each over the unusually loud noise of the inside. Seems there are a lot of people here today. Dre and Harry waste no time as they begin their power-walk over to the token machine; I have to jog to keep up. They offer to buy me a few tokens but I do not really plan on playing much.

So the first game they go to is this game with rifle guns; Harry grabs the red one and Dre grabs the blue one after hurriedly shoving tokens into the little coin slit. Boys. And they're off; shooting everything that emerges into sight on the screen, good guy or bad guy, and then laughing at the high-pitched screams. I lean against a nearby game and cross my legs at the ankle, nodding and smiling whenever they call me and point excitedly at the screen.

Dre ends up getting a higher score; probably because Harry had to keep pushing the white-blonde hair from his eyes like every five seconds. And next I am following them to one of those racing car games. I take a seat in one of the two unoccupied seats as they get started. Harry wins this time, as Dre is not very good at driving and kept crashing. Harry would laugh when Dre would find that he was going the wrong way.

Harry turns his feet out from under the wheel and looks across Dre—who is in the middle of us—and to me. He rests his arms on his knees.

"**Wanna catch next round**?" He asks me in English, for Dre's benefit, swooping his bangs to the side. I shake my head but thank him for the offer, as I am no good at these games. Harry shrugs and looks casualty to the right and narrows his eyes a bit. "**I think I know why Dao-Ming didn't wanna come with us**," he says out of the blue. Dre and I look at him curiously.

He nods his head to the right, where he had been looking. Dre twists around in the seat to look behind the back of the chair. All I have to do is turn to my left. And there is Dao-Ming walking in the double doors on the right side of Liang. On the left side is Zhuang. But that is it; it is only the three of them. They have not spotted us, as Liang and Zhuang are too busy joking about something and Dao-Ming is too busy trying to get in on the joke.

"**Wow**," Dre stretches the word out, sounding a bit sarcastic.

Dao-Ming sees Harry first and she gets this funny look on her face as she slowly recognizes Dre and me next. She grabs the end of her long, shiny black hair, which is styled in its signature high ponytail, and plays with it nervously.

"**Because she wanted to come with them**," Dre concludes, not at all hostile though, just matter-of-factly. And I am thankful for that.

Liang and Zhuang see us then and both lead the way over here. Dao-Ming follows uneasily but refuses to look any of us in the eyes. Dre sighs in frustration when he sees them walking over here. Harry forces himself to look away.

"**It's like they're everywhere**," Dre mutters.

"Hey," Liang says casualty as he reaches us. None of us reply. Harry stares at the floor and I ponder over smiling or not. Dre just does not understand. I look around them again, but do not see what I am looking for.

Cheng is not with them today.

"Look," Zhuang nudges Liang, "we didn't even do anything and they're all scared." Liang smirks and walks over to stand in between Dre and Harry's seats. He leans over and looks at the screen of the racing game.

"Man, you guys suck," he says, eying the stats on each screen. He looks at Harry, "I bet we could beat you." Harry moves his hair out of his face. Without waiting for a proper response, Liang motions for me to move and takes the seat of the game I was sitting in. Zhuang grins and takes the last seat, the one to Liang's right. Dao-Ming goes to stand behind Liang's seat, placing her hands on the shoulders of the chair. Dre and Harry watch as Liang and Zhuang insert tokens into the game before reluctantly adding their own coins.

"Winner takes all tickets. Everyone's." Zhuang proposes.

"No," Harry protests with a shake of his head, his hair flopping with the movement.

"Come on," Liang persists, "all you have to do is win."

Harry sighs but does not disagree; he feels he has no choice in the matter. Dre looks to Harry for translation. Harry repeats everything in English for him.

I'm just glad that they decided to play an arcade game rather than fight.

**Sorry again for the lateness. **


	6. Chapter 6

**It's funny how everybody thought the dish washing scene was an 'almost kiss scene' too. I didn't really have that in mind when typing it. I honestly just wanted a small moment.**

**But that was over two years ago, and I apologize to any readers that I have left for the terribly long delay. Life is getting busier and busier and I, for a period of time, lost interest all together in writing. I do hope you guys are still out there and interested in this little story.**

It is a strange thing I feel whenever Dao-Ming chooses to avoid me over the account of Liang. It is strange because it is nothing. I feel nothing when she does that. I shrug and wait until she is ready to talk to me again. That is just always how it has been. And I do not mind, though it seems more logical to mind a whole lot. Maybe it is because I know exactly why she is avoiding me; because she feels bad for choosing him over me on any given subject or matter. And since she feels bad enough to avoid me, then maybe I should not make her feel any worse? Does that sound illogical?

To Harry it does. Because when I tried to explain to him after our visit to the arcade, he just seemed to become more annoyed with her, and even a bit annoyed with me for not lashing out at her or calling her out on her rude behavior. I just do not see it necessary. And it makes me wonder why it upsets Harry so much. In fact, I think that I felt more disappointed with her when she refused to stand up for Dre that time at lunch than I have ever felt when she avoids me. Maybe that makes me strange.

ooo

"We win." Liang announces smugly.

"I actually beat _you_," Harry states quietly, hiding his eyes behind his bangs. Liang looks back at the screen and stares at the big _3__rd_ and then across Dre to Harry's screen showing a big _2__nd_as if he just realized that Harry had beat him. He gets this funny look on his face. Zhuang snorts a laugh at Liang and Dre follows suit. He understands nothing being said but after looking to his left at Harry and then right to Liang and catching their places in the race, he seems to catch on. Liang shoots Dre a glare and Dre quickly drops his smirk and looks straight ahead at his own screen showing _4__th_ place.

"It's okay," Dao-Ming speaks up from behind Liang's seat, "that was kind of a warm up for Liang." She places her hands on his shoulders but he shrugs them away. She looks at Harry, but Harry continues to stare at Liang.

"And _I_ beat _you_," Zhuang points at his _1__st_, looking across Liang and Dre over to Harry, but Harry is too busy staring a hole into the side of Laing's head that he does not pay Zhuang's comment any mind.

Zhuang holds his hand out expectantly, "Give us your tickets."

"We don't have any," Harry says to the side of Liang's head, "we just got here, like fifteen minutes before you did."

"Fine." Zhuang says after a while, "we want one thousand tickets by the end of the day."

"What?" Harry finally looks away from Liang, "Why?"

"Because I said so." Zhuang says simply as he rises from the seat.

Harry does not reply; he just glares at Liang again through his white-blonde bangs as Liang stands to join his friend. I give Harry a bewildered look but he does not seem to notice. Liang does not look at Harry—whether he is ignoring the heated looks or is simply not aware, I do not know—he just looks at me.

"Bye." He says to me. I wave.

"Bye, Dao-Ming." Harry says to Dao-Ming without looking at her. Dao-Ming clears her throat in discomfort before murmuring back to him.

As they stride away gingerly—with Dao-Ming in the back—Harry continues his one-sided staring contest with the back of Liang, but Dre does not seem to notice. He only pouts over his poor racing skills.

ooo

I ponder over Harry's strange behavior. Did he really not want to see Dao-Ming that much that seeing her made him mad? And he must not like Liang very much; though you'd think it would be Zhuang he would have the bigger problem with, considering the harassment he started that day at lunchtime. Maybe all that hair on top of his head is messing with his head.

ooo

Monday, lunchtime. It has been quiet for just a little over fifteen minutes. And that makes me wonder. Not that I do not appreciate the peace. I just have not been all that use to it at this time of the day. And I keep looking back at their table and count down from ten to one, anticipating their arrival—I have counted down six times now. They have not even looked over here yet.

Not even Cheng.

Dre and Harry have been talking amongst themselves for a while now. I tune in every once in a while, but as of now, I have no idea what they are talking about. My half eaten food is sure to be getting cold, but I did not really plan on eating anymore anyway. I should have been at practice today for lunch, but my teacher canceled for personal matters, and so my practice tonight will probably be a little longer to make up for the lost time. It's funny; you tend not to really imagine your stern-faced tutors having lives outside of teaching.

I look over towards the front of the lunch room in time to see Dao-Ming entering the line. She is talking casually to a girl who I am pretty sure is goes by Ai. They arrive a little late, so the line is not very long. They reach the end in no time and Ai departs from her with a quick goodbye to head to her table.

Dao-Ming stops in the walkway for a moment, looking around with her tray in hand. She then walks this way and I look away, pretending to be interested in something else. I look up dead in her eyes as she walks past us. I turn to watch her go to Cheng and his friends. All seats next to Liang are taken, so she hesitantly sits at the end of one of the benches, next to one of the unknown friends. Nobody looks up when she arrives. They continue their conversations.

Instead of eating, Dao-Ming sits awkwardly and plays with the end of her pony-tail—which is not as high as usual—and listens to the guys. Deciding that I am being nosy, I turn back towards our table. Harry must have been watching her too, because he instantly looks away when I turn around. Dre is almost finished with his food. He brought a plastic fork to school today. Way to be proactive.

Lingyu, a girl in two of my classes, walks past their table. I watch Zhuang nudge Liang and they both look up at her, watching as she walks by obliviously and over to a nearby table. Zhuang licks his lips, then grins and says something to Liang that makes him laugh.

I look at the girl too, wondering what they are saying. Lingyu is a very attractive, slightly quiet, girl that is in both my first and fourth classes. She has hair of a decent length that is usually pulled back into a tight, ballerina bun and bangs that she no longer wears across her forehead, but pulled back with pins. I have seen Zhuang talk to her a couple of times and it seems he is quite fond of her. Too bad she does not seem to feel the same.

I turn my attention to Dao-Ming, who is also looking at Lingyu. She takes a glance at Liang and stands to her feet. She walks to the trash to dump her tray quickly, then strides over to where Lingyu is walking—which is still in the sight of Liang and Zhuang. She taps the girl on the shoulder and greets her with a big smile and hug, like the two of them have been long-time friends. Lingyu looks puzzled and slightly uncomfortable. Nobody at the table but Liang and Zhuang has noticed Dao-Ming's absence. Liang rolls his eyes and his face falls into a scowl. Dao-Ming continues with Lingyu to her table, even going as far as to sit down next to her.

I turn back to my table and finish a little more of my food, wondering why Dao-Ming chooses to humiliate herself like this for someone like him.

"**Why doesn't she just sit with us**?" Dre questions to no one in particular.

"**Because she's too embarrassed to come back to the people she rejected**." Harry answers anyway in a condescending tone.

"**Rejected**?" I repeat with a raised eyebrow.

"**Yeah**_, rejected_," Harry says the word in Chinese this time, and then pauses to shove his chopsticks in his mouth and chew for a moment. "**Discarded, cast aside, saved for a rainy day**." Dre laughs.

"**I know what it means**," I tell him, not really needing a definition. I am getting an A in English. Harry shrugs and pushes his bangs out of his face only to have them fall back in place. "**She did not **_**reject**_** anybody**.** She just**…** wants to distance herself for a while**." I finish lamely, sounding ridiculous even to myself. But Dre nods and accepts the answer. Harry rolls his grey eyes, slowly and deliberately.

"**Right**," he starts sarcastically, "**because it makes perfect sense to want to ditch the people on your side for the enemy**." I narrow my eyes at him.

"**The enemy**?" I repeat, "**Since when are there sides**?"

"**Since those punks started messing with us**," Harry states, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, "**started messing with **_**Dre**_. **Someone needs to teach those guys a lesson**." Dre looks up from his finished food.

"**He's right**," Dre mutters, then he repeats, as if with a new found purpose in life, "**he's right**!"

I stare at the boy in disbelief.

"**What are you guys going to do**?" I ask. The two boys look at each other blankly before turning back to me.

"**I don't know**," Dre admits, "**but I'll come up with something**. **And he'll never see it coming**."

"_**They'll**_," Harry corrects him.

"**What**?"

"**You mean **_**they'll**_**—They'll never see it coming**," Harry revises the statement.

"**No**, **I don't care about those other guys**," Dre affirms, "**Ching publicly humiliated me and now thinks he can push me around and intimidate me**. **I only want to make **_**him**_** pay**."

"**I'll back you up, buddy**," Harry throws in, sounding just as determined.

I find myself narrowing my eyes. "**His name is **_**Cheng**_**, you know**."

ooo

Liang talked to me today. It was not much; just a small, casual conversation afterschool while I was waiting for my mother to pick me up.

He asked me if Dao-Ming plans on making eating lunch with them a habit. I told him I did not know. And I told him to be patient with her. He asked what is he being patient about, and I told him to be patient of the smothering thing. He was quiet, before he asked about her relation to Lingyu. I found it quite random, but told him that as I far as I knew, they were only acquaintances.

Then I heard the horn of my mother's car.

ooo

The loud shrill of the telephone awakens me from my trance. I flinch and turn my gaze from the white wall of my bedroom down to the sheet of paper sitting, abandoned, on my desk in front of me. Then I look to the grey telephone in the corner of my desk. That is when I remember I am supposed to be doing homework. I have not really been able to concentrate since I have been home from violin practice, which is bad considering I have a lot of homework tonight.

The phone rings a second, and a third time before my mother answers it. And she calls my name as I pick up my pencil, telling me that the phone call is for me.

"Hello?" I say into the receiver of the phone on my desk. It is quiet for a couple of seconds before a small greeting is heard from the other end.

"Mei-Ying?" It is Dao-Ming's voice, sounding all small and timid. And then we both are quiet for a few moments. I listen to the sound of her breathing.

"Hi," I finally say, and that is all it takes.

"Hey, how was…your day?" she asks, pausing to look for something to say.

"It was fine," I respond neutrally, then at the last minute I add: "And how was yours?"

"Fine," she repeats and things get unnecessarily quiet again. I almost decide to end it politely and get back to homework but she clears her throat in signal that she is going to speak. I do not rush her; I almost feel bad for how awkward she must be feeling at the moment.

"Hey, do you want to hang out Friday? At my house?" she asks it almost in a rush, and then she adds: "With Lingyu?"

I hesitate. But then I wonder why I am hesitating. I do not know Lingyu very well, and therefore, have nothing against her. And by now I can tell that Dao-Ming is practically holding her breath so I agree before she turns purple.

"Sure," I say, "What time?"

"Right after school," she's getting excited now, "we could all walk over together."

"Sure," I repeat.

"Alright," she sighs, "see you tomorrow then."

"Right, bye." I hang up when she mimics my farewell and stare at the ceiling.

ooo

I am barely awake when I step out of the car Friday morning. And when I walk inside the building and to my locker. And when I unlock it and gather my books.

And _bang!_ I am awakened with a jolt as Dre slams my locker door shut and leans against it with a smirk on his face. I blink a couple of times and stare at his face blankly as all of the sounds of adolescent chatter, slamming lockers, and running feet meet my ears all at once. When my autopilot is finally turned off, I mumble my greetings to the energetic boy across from me.

"**Good morning Mei-Ying**!" He doesn't realize he's almost shouting, "**Let me carry those for you**." He grabs for my textbook and bag and I let him take them. He leads the way to my first class. I wonder where his textbook is as he struggles to keep both bags, one on each shoulder, from sliding down his thin arms.

"**And how are you this fine morning**?" he chirps from in front of me. I shrug, but then remember that he cannot see me, so I reply with an audible but indistinguishable noise. He does not seem at all bothered by this as he approaches the door to my first class of the day.

ooo

I notice throughout the day that Cheng seems to be avoiding eye contact with me. Any other time that I noticed this lack of attention would have sent me into a mini-state of melancholy, but I also take note it has a much different connotation than it usually does. It appears as though he is actually _making the effort _to avoid catching my eye rather than just flat out ignoring me. This both confuses me and makes a bit hopeful.

Even though I know he would rather look at anything but my eyes, I am also aware that he is thinking about me enough to _try_ to avoid me.

I begin to wonder if I had done anything recently that he found offensive or annoying. That is, until I see him walking in the hall with Zhuang on the way to my third class of the day. I make it a point to walk where he is able to see me and I stare, intently and unblinkingly, at his face from the distance as we walk toward each other.

I know he feels my stare. I see it in the way that his face falls flat as Zhuang laughs at whatever it is they were talking about. He looks me dead in the eyes for the first time today. His pace slows a bit and his lips part slightly. I am pleasantly surprised at the tint of red that appears in his cheeks as he looks away from me. I feel my own face heat up from the beauty of the site. He looks uncertain and even a little venerable as we pass each other in the hall. I let my eyes stay on him, even allowing myself to turn my head as I walk in the opposite direction. He does not turn with me.

At that moment, I remember the feeling of his soft lips on my fingertip and the warm sensation that came with his fingers intertwining with mine. I smell his lemony scent again as if he were standing directly in front of me. I turn around to face where I'm walking as I recall the way he looked at me that night. How concentrated he looked. I wish I had paid attention to what he had been trying to tell me that night. It seems so important now.

Maybe he was thinking of these things too as we passed each other.

ooo

As I am exiting my fourth class, I feel a soft tap on my shoulder. I turn to see the bright smile of Lingyu, her bun perfect, bangs down again and to the side, and her eyes shining friendly. I had momentarily forgotten that she was in my class.

"Hello Mei-Ying!" Lingyu greets me warmly, her vibrant smile dropping to a shyer smile.

"Hello," I say back as she falls into step with me enthusiastically. I hear the clack of her low heels hit the tile with every step.

"We've shared classes for so long," she states, "I can't believe we haven't talked much before." I nod, not really knowing what else to say. I look down shyly when she continues to smile at me. She's walking pretty close to me; my nose is assaulted with whatever flowery fragrance she is wearing. It is silent for a few seconds, and I toy with the end of one of my pigtails nervously.

"Would you mind if I sat with you guys today at lunch?" she asks, breaking the awkward silence.

"Not at all," I reply and her beautiful smile widens again. She's making _my_ cheeks hurt.

"Okay," she touches my arm softly, "I'll see you after class then."

I give Lingyu a small wave as we part ways.

ooo

And at lunchtime, Lingyu is the first one there, standing beside the line patiently with her hands holding her shoulder bag down and in front of her baby blue sundress. She looks like an expensive little doll. She looks up when I arrive, the tiny pearls on her earrings dangling, and smiles. We greet each other quietly and enter the short line together.

We don't attempt much small talk as we exit the line and walk to the usual table. We sit opposite each other and begin to eat quietly. Why is this so awkward? Though we were never truly friends, I have known this girl for years. The silent minutes seem to stretch on forever until Dre and Harry finally arrive, bringing much needed noise to the table. The two boys separate and sit on either side of me. I hope that Lingyu does not find this rude, that neither of them chose to sit by her.

"Lingyu, right?" Harry pushes his hair out of his eyes before holding out his hand for her to shake, "I'm Harry."

Lingyu places her chopsticks on the styrofoam plate, wipes her hands on her napkin and shakes Harry's hand. It is all done so daintily. "It's nice to meet you. You're Chinese is impeccable." Harry blushes at the compliment.

Dre does not truly understand, but he gets that introductions are being exchanged. So he follows suit in English. Lingyu's English is almost as bad as Zhuang's. I am a little surprised. She seems so perfect at everything.

Harry leans into me to whisper when Lingyu looks back down at her food, "Her accent is adorable." He smiles fondly at the pretty girl. I smile back a little awkwardly and turn to Dre, who has brought another plastic fork to school with him.

"Hey guys," I hear Dao-Ming's voice from behind me. She sits next to Lingyu, opposite Harry and smiles excitedly at me. I sneak a look at Harry. His smile has dropped and he is looking down at his food. He really does not seem to like Dao-Ming.

"We're gonna have so much fun tonight," Dao-Ming looks back and forth between Lingyu and I, "Oh, and did you ask you mom if you can spend the night?" I give her a funny look.

"You did not say anything about that," I tell her when I finish chewing.

"I didn't? Well I meant to. Lingyu is staying the night."

"You guys are having a sleepover?" Harry chimes in conversationally.

"Yes," Lingyu smiles sweetly at him.

"We should crash it!" Harry grins at her. Lingyu laughs, which is the desired effect; Harry looks satisfied.

"Are you kidding me?" Dao-Ming looks at Harry, "my mother would kill me if I had boys over after hours!" Harry rolls his eyes.

"Yeah?" Harry throws at her, "Well I bet you'd make an exception for –"

"**You guys mind talking in English**?" Dre interrupts Harry sounding a bit frustrated. And I feel bad for him. This has to be annoying.

"**Sorry, Dre**," Harry gives him an apologetic smile.

The cafeteria is getting louder as more students get their food plates and head to tables. I want to see Cheng. Well, I always want to see him, but, it's different today.

That sounds ridiculous, even to me.

As the others continue to talk – in English – I eat quietly, until I feel his eyes. I turn to the side, where the food line is just as he turns away. And I get this nervously giddy feeling in the bottom of my stomach. I turn back to my own table even though I feel him approaching.

When the boys are directly behind Dre, Harry and I, Lingyu and Dao-Ming look up.

"Hey Lingyu," comes Zhuang's cheeky voice. My eyes widen a bit when he walks around the table and sits next to Lingyu, opposite Dre. Dre puts his fork down in what appears to be preparation. I know he expects to be picked on because I kind of expect it too.

Lingyu smiles shyly and murmurs a small hello in response as Zhuang slides a little closer to her and begins to eat his food. I finally work up the nerve to turn around and look up and come face to face with Liang. Cheng is back and off to the side with one of his other friends. He does not look at me. Liang looks at Lingyu and smiles handsomely. She sure is getting a lot of attention. I feel Harry tense up at my side.

"Hey, Liang," Dao-Ming says hurriedly, as if it will make him pay more attention to her.

"What do you guys want?" Harry speaks up before Liang has a chance to reply (he probably was not going to anyway), and Zhuang scoffs loudly at him.

"We just came to say hi," Zhuang says matter-of-factly, "don't get your panties in a twist, White Boy." Harry rolls his eyes as he pushes his hair aside.

I turn around to Cheng again and this time he does look at me. I smile slightly and he raises his eyebrows and lifts the corner of his mouth in what appears to be an even slighter smile. I feel the butterflies in my stomach let loose and play all around my insides. And at that moment, I am so happy that my face breaks into an even bigger smile before I turn back around to my table.

Zhuang is whispering something in Lingyu's ear. A pretty shade of red dusts across her cheeks as she giggles cutely. When Zhuang is satisfied, he finally stands up with his lunch and walks back across to his friends. I turn around to them and watch as Cheng and his taller friend leave to their own table. Liang looks down at me. He waves and smiles at me before turning to follow Cheng.

"See ya later beautiful," Zhuang grins flirtatiously at Lingyu.

She blushes again, "Have a good lunch."

I look to Dao-Ming, who is staring blankly at me. I am unable to read the expression on her face.

"**I think that guy was hitting on you**," Dre tells Lingyu as he picks up his fork to resume eating.

"**Hitting on me**?" Lingyu looks puzzled and Dre nods.

"**Yeah**," he confirms, "**I can't understand him, but it was so obvious**."

"**Hitting on you**," Harry repeats when Lingyu looks to us to understand, "**It means like flirting;** flirting with you." He repeats the last part in Chinese for her benefit. The term 'hitting on' made no sense to her in English. And Lingyu understands this time. She just shakes her head and looks down with another blush.

"**And Liang was hitting on Mei-Ying**," Harry throws in unnecessarily. I give him a warning look before glancing at Dao-Ming. She looks away, almost hurt. I feel bad.

"**No he wasn't**," I look at Harry pointedly, "**he never said one word to me**." Harry shrugs. I know he just made that comment to hurt Dao-Ming.

ooo

Dre asks me if I want to hang out with him today, as he did not understand our lunch conversation about sleeping over at Dao-Ming's house. I feel bad for turning him down, so I agree to walk from school with him to get some ice cream. Harry had planned on asking Dre to hang out, so when he found out about the trip to get ice cream, he asked if he could tag along. I was still a little bothered with his hostility towards Dao-Ming, but not enough to not want him around.

I see the boys waiting for me at my locker. I greet them with a smile as I approach them. They wait patiently as I put my books away from my last class.

"**When are you heading over to Dao-Ming's house**?" Harry asks me as we exit the school building, having to raise his voice a little bit for me to hear over the noisy chatter of excited students leaving school on a Friday. I shrug.

"**I have to go home first and ask my mom if I can stay the night**," I tell him as we walk down the steps.

"_**We**_** should have a sleep over too Dre**," Harry proposes.

"**We **_**should**_!" Dre agrees enthusiastically, "**Wanna have it at my house**?"

"**Yeah**!" Harry is excited now too.

It is a beautiful day as we walk. The soft breeze keeps blowing Harry's hair into his face. I wonder when he plans on finally getting it cut. And it is a nice comfortable stroll filled with random conversation all the way to the small ice cream stand. We each purchase our own cups; Harry gets strawberry, Dre gets something with chocolate chips and I feel like having mint. The boys tell me that they will walk me to my home before heading to the apartment complex that they both live in. I am grateful for the company.

"**I don't mean to pry into your personal life or anything**," Harry starts suddenly, "**But I really do think that Liang guy likes you**." Since I do not know what to say to this, I just shrug and keep my eyes on the light green treat in my hands. I still do not understand why he is so intent on convincing me of this. I do not feel Liang has treated me any differently than he would any other girl.

"**Which one's Liang**?" Dre asks with a mouth full of ice cream.

Harry looks at Dre, "**The one that Dao-Ming likes**," then he looks back at me expectantly. I still have nothing to say to this. So he continues, "**And Dao-Ming knows it too**."

The image of Dao-Ming's unreadable face at lunch today crosses my mind. Is it possible that she believes this too, and she blames me for the way Liang treats her? Even if something like that were true, she has to know that my interests lie entirely in Cheng.

Cheng.

I suddenly really want to see him again.

"**Well regardless, I don't like him in that way**," I finally say to quell Harry's nosiness.

Harry shrugs nonchalantly and changes the subject, "**That girl Lingyu is really cute**."

"**Yeah, she is**!" Dre agrees with Harry as he finishes up his ice cream and tosses the empty cup and spoon into a nearby trashcan.

Liang is not brought up anymore – to my relief – all the rest of the way to my house. Harry talks about the Qixi Festival that is coming up soon. He says that we should all go together; Harry, Dre, Lingyu and me. Dre is excited and I cannot help but smile as he nudges me in the arm enthusiastically. I am a little annoyed when I notice that Harry has purposefully left out inviting Dao-Ming along with us. I attended the festival with her last year. I planned to do the same this year.

ooo

When I arrive at Dao-Ming's house later that day, I decide I am glad that I asked my mother to let me spend the night. It really had been awhile since I've been here. And it's a great idea to hang out with girl friends. Maybe the three of us can all become really good friends.

I smile to myself as I step out of the car. I wave to my mother before hitching my bag onto my shoulder and walking the path to the house. Dao-Ming's mother answers the door and waves to mine as she drives off. She lets me in with a kind smile and tells me that the girls are in the den. Girls. That means that Lingyu is already here.

Dao-Ming's parents use to always let us have the den during sleepovers. Dao-Ming does not have a television in her own room so we use the large one in the den to watch movies and play video games. It also has a lot of floor room. It was just me and her most of the time, but there were a number of times when we would have a few other girls over too.

When I walk into the den, I am greeted by an excited Dao-Ming lounging on the brown couch. Lingyu is curled up in the arm chair. Both girls have bowls of ice cream and are watching some movie on the television.

"Hey guys," I say as I place my bag on the floor by the couch.

"Hey," did you eat?" Dao-Ming asks me.

"Just ice cream," I tell her, motioning to her bowl.

"Good," she smiles, "my mom's gonna cook."

The next couple of hours are spent watching television and listening to Dao-Ming talk about any and everything that pops into her head at the moment. She mentions the Qixi Festival and it makes me think of Harry. She wants the three of us to go with Liang and his friends. I decide to put off telling her that this is not a good idea, and that it would be better to go with Dre and Harry. Lingyu just nods and agrees with everything; she probably does not have the heart to shut down such enthusiasm. Though, now that I think about it, she probably has her own close friends or family that she would want to go with. Until very recently, Lingyu was just an acquaintance to Dao-Ming and me.

"So I think Zhuang likes you," Dao-Ming says to Lingyu. Lingyu looks away shyly and grabs a throw blanket to put over her bare feet and legs before she decides to reply.

"I don't know," she shrugs.

"Would you go for him?" Dao-Ming asks almost hopefully.

"I don't think so," Lingyu shrugs again, "we've known him for so long; I've never looked at him that way. He's like a silly little brother."

"Yeah," Dao-Ming agrees, "he can be silly at times, but he's a really cool guy and totally fun to be around." She says this so fondly.

I give her a deadpanned look that she does not see. 'Cool and totally fun to be around'? The guy is a menace. And he never pays her any mind. He only talks to and about her when he is making fun of her efforts to get Liang to pay attention to her.

"I don't know," Lingyu says again as she pulls the blanket over her arms, "but what about Liang? He is very handsome." I see Dao-Ming squirm at the sound of his name. Lingyu is oblivious to that. And I guess Lingyu feels that I am not contributing enough to the conversation because she looks to me and adds, "Don't you think so Mei-Ying?"

Dao-Ming looks at me too.

"Sure," I reply, not really knowing what to say.

"She likes Cheng," Dao-Ming blurts out before Lingyu can say anything else.

I look at her in disbelief, automatically ready to protest her statement.

"Cheng?" Lingyu repeats, "He's really cute and smart. He's in my class. He's kind of scary though." I look down at my hands on my lap, annoyed at Dao-Ming.

"Our families are just really close," I murmur quietly.

And I wonder how long I am going to keep giving that excuse.

**This chapter was me getting back into the flow of things and introducing a new character. **

**I know I've been bad, but please spare me a review? Yes? Even a small one?**


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